


Rude

by EvaMawesome7



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst/Romance, F/F, Femslash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaMawesome7/pseuds/EvaMawesome7
Summary: Media Liaison Agent Jareau is hoping to make the jump to profiler for the BAU, but unfortunately the powers-that-be have other plans. A confident, dark-haired woman, Emily Prentiss, fills the spot. JJ is jealous. Emily, is utterly intrigued. (JEMILY ENDAME).
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	1. Hello

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"You know," Clary said, "most psychologists agree that hostility is really just sublimated sexual attraction."  
― Cassandra Clare, _City of Bones_

**Chapter 1**

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Northwest Washington D.C.

Quantico, VA

_10:12 a.m._

"Agent Hotchner, a minute?"

The well-coiffed woman standing across from the surly agent turned before he did; a line in between her eyebrows. She had interrupted something. But if JJ was at all taken aback by the sternness of the BAU Section Chief's glare, she didn't show it.

"Agent Jareau," SES Strauss said, dismayed by the interruption. "Can I help you?"

Hotch pursed his lips before JJ could answer. He had been expecting this. "Not now, JJ."

"Yes, now, Agent Hotchner," JJ squared her shoulders. Chief Strauss shook her head, defeated. This sort of insubordination was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to her concerns about Agent Hotchner's competencies as an effective leader.

"Excuse me, Agent Jareau –" his voice tightened. "We can set up a proper time to disc -"

"I'm sorry, but it can't wait" JJ said, closing the door behind her. Both the older agents stiffened as she made her way toward them, surprised by her audacity. This was unlike JJ.

Hotch's dark eyes bored into hers but before he could protest further, Chief Strauss ended the debate.

"We're done here," she said, speaking to Hotch but with a disappointed scowl trained on the smaller woman.

"Actually Chief, I don't think so," Hotch said.

"Oh yes. Agent, we are," she growled and tossed a file onto Hotch's desk. "You should expect her any minute now."

JJ swallowed, her arms crossed. She waited until the sound of the Section Chief's heels tapered off out the office and down the hallway. Downstairs, Morgan and Reid exchanged a glance but didn't say anything. Tensions were running high at the BAU, not just since Gideon vanished, but if they really thought about it – since Elle left. Nothing had been the same. But then again, was "same" an extravagance they could hope for with a job like theirs?

"She's coming today? She starts today?" JJ shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"JJ – that was shockingly inappropriate. That can never ha –"

"You know what Hotch? Spare me your rulebook on courtesy, you're a hypocrite!"

Hotch fixed his lapel and sat down at his desk. JJ needed to get it out of her system, he knew that.

"You went behind my back! You knew, you _knew_ I was planning to get certified. Hell, you encouraged me to! And now you go and hire someone else and don't even have the courtesy to tell me?" JJ was yelling now, her cheeks red.

"JJ – I understand your frustration," he said, his voice even. "But it's out of my hands now."

"You don't Hotch. You don't understand my frustration," she clenched her jaw. "How am I supposed to trust you, or anyone leading this team for that matter? I wouldn't even have known about the new agent if it wasn't for Garcia. Do you see how big of a betrayal that is?"

Her voice cracked at the end and she chastised herself internally.

"Just the training – not even counting the time it would take for you to get certified – the training alone, would have taken over six months," Hotch said, reaching for the file Strauss had flung onto his desk. "With two agents down, we just don't have that kind of time. I apologize."

JJ ran a hand through her hair, pulling into the chair across from the man who was now looking at the documents like distasteful crime-scene photos. They were certification papers for the new agent.

"Hotch, are you naïve enough to think this is about bureaucratic bullshit? You think I'm upset because of the fact that you can't show bias and hold an empty spot on the team for me?" JJ put her palms flat on the desk, nostrils flared. "When were you going to tell me?"

JJ may not have been a profiler yet, but she was good. Hotch found his temperature rising at her allegation of naivety – he would have liked to believe his ego less inflated than that, but it wasn't. JJ knew. Her eyes softened when she realized the effect of her words.

"I don't like this anymore than you do. This agent –" he looked down at the file, "- Prentiss. Strauss wants her."

His voice was only above a whisper now, he leaned back in his chair and watched the realization dawn on JJ's face.

"They're still watching you? Strauss and the others…"

"I really cannot say anymore Agent jareau," he glanced out his office and back to JJ. "But for now, the optics with Gideon. And with Elle right before him… I need a strong Media Liaison. Nobody knows the job better than you do."

JJ shook her head, crossing her arms again. He wasn't going to flatter her out of this duplicity.

"Don't patronize me Hotch."

"With the optics… I need a strong agent in the field, and that's just not you," he closed the file, punctuating his hurtful sentence.

JJ's eyes glistened.

"It's just not you, not yet. But you're young, and bright. And I give you my word, that as soon as there is another opening, I will do everything in my power to give you precedence."

"Unfortunately Agent Hotchner, your word is not worth what is used to be, is it?"

Hotch looked ready to respond, but just breathed slowly out his nose. He got up suddenly, eyes trained on a figure behind the blonde agent. JJ twisted her neck following his gaze, and got up.

"Welcome to D.C. Agent Prentiss," Hotch said. The dark-haired newcomer smiled, walking into the office.

"My friends told me to try the half-smoke as soon as I landed in D.C. But I'll settle for the Alabama slaw-dogs," she beamed earnestly, instantly aware of her joke flopping. "No offense, or anything. I'm Agent Emily Prentiss."

She extended an arm out to JJ, who was standing closer to her than the Unit Chief. Blue eyes looked into the older woman's, her replacement's, for the first time since she had strutted in. JJ thought she was going to start crying, her pulse sped up. Emily took her hand back after it had been hanging in the air for nearly half a minute. Guilt prickled JJ's eyes, but the brunette's expression was unreadable.

"Welcome to the BAU, Agent Prentiss," a deep voice came from behind the blonde. Emily blinked to look away, quickly self-conscious at how long she had been watching the aloof, surly woman standing across from her.

"Agent Hotchner? I'm guessing…" Emily smiled at him, nodding politely at JJ and walking around her.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Prentiss," JJ finally got her words out, mustering a half-hearted smile as she started out the door. "I'll leave the both of you to it."

"Actually, Agent Jareau – "Hotch rounded his desk, glancing at his watch. "Agent Prentiss, this is Agent Jareau, JJ, the BAU's Media Liaison. I'm just getting ready for a conference call with the Senator so she can show you around in the meanwhile."

JJ's mouth twitched. She was not in the mood, to say the least.

"Actually I have to – "

"Thank you, JJ" Hotch said, gentle but firm.

The tall brunette looked between the two of them like a ping-pong match, unsure what her next move should be. Tough crowd, she thought, her fingers tightening around the leather handle of her briefcase.

JJ took a shaky breath in, tugging at the corners of her sensibilities for some semblance of professionalism. She turned to the woman who was staring at her with large, dark, eager eyes.

"Let's start with the break-room Agent Prentiss, and then we can meet the team."

"Oh, awesome!" Emily grinned, her teeth bright. "You can call me Emily, JJ."

"You can call me Agent Jareau, Emily" the blonde said, her voice clipped. "I've got a lot on my agenda today, so shall we?"

The brunette raised her eyebrows, glancing back at a dismal Hotch as she followed the amusing, angry woman out the office and into the world of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit.

* * *

**A/N:** So, it is quarantine month four - and I need a distraction from my usual job and life. I'm so late to the party I'm not sure if anyone watches Criminal Minds anymore? But I binged it for the first time and noticed the chemistry between Paget Brewster and A.J. Cook was off the charts! SO I wrote a fanfic? Let me know what you all think! (From FF.net)


	2. Run

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"Attention is the beginning of devotion."

\- Mary Oliver

**Chapter 2**

_5:57 a.m._

For a city so drenched in politics, Emily found herself enjoying her morning run in a way she hadn't for a decent amount of time. Runs were essential to her mental-health; she was never much for group exercise – or group anything for that matter.

She rounded a clearing and focused on the sound of her feet against the dirt, soles crunching dry leaves as she pushed forward. It had been over a fortnight since she had been on a run, and she could feel the effects; her thighs were starting to tighten and her nose was runny. She wiped at it with the back of her hand.

She was almost at the 5-mile mark; she could stop for a quick hydration break then. _Focus –_ she reminded herself, choosing a particularly crooked red maple tree at a distance as her attention-point.

Moving was always a pain in the ass. She had done it enough, and it still messed with her exercise routine. _You'd think I would have found a system by now_ – she thought.

It was even more of a pain in the ass when she had to start work her very first day in a new place, at a job that she was still trying to find her footing in. _Stop, focus._ She blinked the thoughts away, crisp morning air drying out her contact lenses as she sped up. The images of the boxes lying around her duplex flashed behind her retinas and she shook them away.

She really did not want to think of the BAU right now. The past few weeks had been – trying – to say the least. The team seemed to be tight-knit, burnt-out and very wary of her, except maybe the technical analyst – Penelope Garcia – but she wasn't the one who needed to trust her. It was Morgan and of course, Hotch. It was Reid. It was the people she had to be in the field with, the people she had to break down doors with and enter the crevices of the most troubled minds with. The sound of her panting overtook the scenery around her and her vision blurred as she reached her checkpoint – the red maple. She touched the trunk, and knelt down to catch her breath, thoughts of the BAU still circling her dehydrated mind.

The only person she felt somewhat close to was a member even newer than her – David Rossi. He had joined the team just four days after she had. And yet, he seemed to be getting along with everyone far better. He played chess with Reid on their flights back to Quantico and helped Hotch bounce ideas on the flights to wherever they headed. Then again, Rossi was a legend in behavioural analysis and suddenly comparing herself to him, Emily felt slightly arrogant.

She looked up, and pulled out a pack of strawberry endurance chews from her pocket. She popped two in the back of her mouth, biting down slowly as the flavoured sugar and fluids oozed out, coated her tongue and trickled down her throat. The C&O Canal trail was not a bad sight at 5:30 a.m. It ran along the Potomac River and even branched into the wooded Rock Creek Park if one ever wished to go on an impromptu hike. Emily blinked away the cold air, watching as flecks of the morning breeze shaved at the Virginia water – coming and going from the same direction, carrying with it October spores and the huffs of committed morning runners. A dark starling swooped down, wetting its feet and circling a creaky overhead bridge before escaping into the orange trees. Emily squinted, fingertips pressing into her waist; in the far distance she could see the jagged cut-outs of the Appalachian trail. Like a troubled child trying and failing to colour inside the lines, the mountains carved into the periwinkle sky.

Yes. She could live here, Emily thought, watching the scene. After all, the team had good reason to be a little cautious of her. She was keeping things. She had to. And they were the country's top profilers. She chewed harder on the gummies. But this felt right. Profiling. It felt satisfying, it felt like she was making a difference. She wouldn't give in that easily.

She stretched her leg out on a bench, pushing lightly on her knee.

Of course, there was JJ, the team member Emily suspected might have been at the core of the uncertainty around her presence. Emily checked her watch, and started a measured jog to her run back. More runners spotted the dirt path now that the Sun was coming up. Emily had her whisperings around the office – not that she had meant to eavesdrop, of course – but it made sense that the blonde seemed to especially dislike her considering she had been eyeing her job. And on top of that, if she knew about her mother's position as an Ambassador, word of nepotism and string-pulling couldn't possibly be too far. She clenched her jaw at the thought, detesting the rumour's looming presence over her career as she picked up her pace. Nothing could have been farther from the truth, her mother didn't want her here – unmarried and slumming it with the cerebral crew in an FBI basement. She felt warmth spread over her face, down her chest.

It had been a little irritating, dealing with the stony Agent Jareau, and yet she had to admit her skill at fending off question after question about the rape and torture cases in Birmingham the past week had been impressive. Three women had fallen victim, and one kidnapped as the small town was racked with fear when their team had landed in The Magic City. While she and Morgan knocked on neighbours' doors and Hotch tried to facilitate confidence with the local police, JJ had been the epitome of patience, grace and respect. She fielded probing questions from the press like a pro, and dealt with a decent amount of verbal abuse from families of the victims – all of it, cool and composed. Emily hadn't been able to look away. Politics – Agent Jareau actually made it look earnest. Emily wasn't sure whether she liked that or not.

JJ being standoffish to her especially stung because she seemed like such a thoughtful person to everyone else, always restrained but bubbling with candid attention. Emily wondered what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that sort of regard.

She was shaken out of her thoughts when she spotted the most precious cattle-dog jogging toward her. His owner wrapped the leash around her hand as the scruffy, energetic thing showed special interest in Emily. The FBI agent laughed, catching her breath as she maintained her stride. The slim woman yanked at the leash, smiling meaningfully at Emily, her eyes dipped to the open zipper of the brunette's pullover and back to her own eyes. Emily felt colour in her face as they passed one other and turned back only for a moment to satisfy her curiosity.

_Focus, Prentiss._

* * *

On the other side of the Potomac, Morgan struggled with the downward-dog. Brawny legs trembled as the yoga teacher nudged him to push his heels further to the ground.

Behind him, Garcia sneered. "Not a bad view, am I right?" she whispered to a stretched out JJ next to her – loud enough for several patrons of the class to toss her upside-down dirty looks.

"Jeez… I'm just saying – even when he's shaking he's – "

"Garcia –" JJ chuckled, "Shush."

"Tell me I'm wrong" the curly-haired blonde mouthed to JJ.

"You're insane," JJ mouthed back.

"Oh my god, you two –" Morgan looked at them from between his legs, sweat dripping down his shiny forehead and pooling onto the mat. "Would'ya quiet down, I'm here cause' you asked – "

"In the back –" all the three agents craned their necks up to the yoga teacher, who had her hands interlocked. "I ask that you please respect the practice, even if you choose to disregard your own mindfulness."

Three jaws dropped open. They stopped for smoothies on the way out.

"I'll do an oat latte, hazelnut," JJ said to the cashier.

"That is not a smoothie," Garcia chimed in. "So not a relaxing Sunday morning bev."

The cashier looked confused for a moment before JJ shook her head. "Would you please…?" Garcia put her hands up in mock-defence. The two of them waited for their drinks, glancing at a sweaty Morgan who insisted on waiting outside the café for fresh air. He was still reeling from the class.

"Thanks for coming with me, Pen," JJ said finally. "I – I needed that."

Garcia smiled the blonde, reaching around her to grab two straws. "I would say you're welcome, but my hamstrings won't let me."

JJ chuckled, averting her gaze from a man trying to catch her eye across the café. "It's just been a shitty, shitty couple weeks you know?"

"Jayje…" Garcia adjusted her glasses. "You deserved better than that. Hotch was – that was out of line. I'm so sorry."

JJ groaned as the two women grabbed their order and made their way out the crowded shop. "I don't even wanna' hear Hotch's name. I just – I can't… and then there's Prentiss! I don't know who I hate more…"

She snapped a lid on her coffee as Morgan and Garcia exchanged glances.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Garcia snapped back. Morgan took a sip out of his straw.

"That –" JJ pointed between them. "Do you not agree? I mean – she took – she _stole_ my job."

Morgan sighed. "Reid was smart to say no to this…" he mumbled. JJ glared at him.

"I mean…" Garcia hummed as they walked down H-street. "My sweet, sweet gorgeous angel… you know – you know I am always and forever on your side…"

"But?" the blonde challenged her friend.

"But… do you honestly think it's Emily's fault? C'mon."

JJ shook her head, taking a sip out of her latte. She gasped when she burnt her tongue.

"Ooooh ow Jayje. I told you to get a smoothie!"

"Garcia – would you stop it?"

"Ok ok," she relented. "I'm just saying – I haven't really ever seen you like this… sweetie… and it's scary. You being so upset with this woman you barely know is just – it's draining you. It makes no sense. Hotch, I get… but Emily Prentiss is –"

"Here!" Morgan barked through a forced grin. "She's here."

"Wait, wait, what?" Garcia looked around, pushing her glasses up. JJ felt a knot in her stomach, her eyes searching the weekend crowd. The three of them saw the brunette before she saw them. She was tapping her Fitbit as she circumvented the crowd.

"Prentiss," Morgan called to her and she looked alarmed before she recognized the voice. A clean, big smile spread over her face as she made her way to the trio. She was still in her jogging gear, sweat formed a Darkened-V at her chest, her zipper lowered in an effort to cool down. Her hair was in a neat ponytail and her sleeves rolled up. It was all very casual and the blonde found it a little difficult to keep anger at the forefront with this image of Emily Prentiss before her.

"Hey! Fancy seeing you here!" Garcia grinned.

"Long time, no see" Emily greeted sarcastically.

"We were just, you know? JJ's had a long week so we agreed to go to a yoga class with her to help her relax cause' as you probably noticed she's been pretty wound up and – a – and…" Garcia looked aghast as she heard herself, JJ was staring at her incredulously. "And I'm just. I'm going to shut up. Yes. That's what I'll do."

Morgan shook his head, offering the brunette a friendly smile.

Emily raised an eyebrow, watching a rosy blush spread across JJ's face. "Well I hope it helped, Agent Jareau. The yoga."

The blonde had buried her face in her latte, but finally looked up. She offered the taller woman a terse smile, recalling her snapping at the brunette when she had called her "JJ" a few weeks ago.

"It did, Emily," JJ said, regaining some self-assurance. Emily held back a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Morgan and Garcia exchanged another glimpse at each other, amused at the peculiar atmosphere.

"Exploring the trails Prentiss?" Morgan interjected. Brown eyes tore away from the blonde and to the taller agent brave enough to cut through the tension. JJ felt herself relax a little as the attention dissipated off of her, and her three co-workers fell into small-talk.

This was finally an opportunity for her to observe Emily Prentiss without anyone noticing, what was her deal? Uhg – what a terrible, horrible, evil job-thief.

The veins in her forearms made subtle trails down to her hands, which were placed on her hips. Her stance wide, like she was at-ease in a military parade. Blue eyes traced the forearms again, and she wondered if Emily had just done push-ups. She had definitely been working out, she glanced her chest, noting the sweat. Her collar-bone formed a neat line right above, the muscles underneath taut. JJ felt an ache somewhere inside, like a cramp.

She looked away, to the side, at a couple sharing a scone on the bench behind them. It was blackberry, she thought. She was hungry.

JJ knew Garcia was not entirely wrong. It wasn't Emily's fault, per se. But she felt so vexed by her, and she couldn't quite place it. She chanced another glimpse. Emily was laughing and saying something about starlings on the Potomac to Garcia, and both the agents looked entranced at what she was saying. JJ was having trouble following her and so she had no option but to read her lips. They were very legible. The blonde swallowed, taking another sip of her latte.

She wasn't sure how much time had gone by, but everyone was saying their goodbyes.

"See you tomorrow Emily," JJ offered, trying to be amicable.

"If you're lucky," the brunette winked.

The two women parted from Morgan, heading to separate cars owing to JJ and Garcia's plans to go shopping after.

It wasn't until JJ slipped into the driver's seat and Garcia snapped the seatbelt next to her that the technical analyst spoke.

"I know you hate her…"

"I don't hate her," JJ rolled her eyes, checking her mirrors and pulling out of the tight spot.

"Ok. I know you think she stole your job but I _have_ to say – I love my men… but oh my god she is so hot."

JJ bit the inside of her cheek, stepping on the gas.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think! And wear a mask!


	3. Call Me JJ

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"Tis the night—the night  
Of the grave's delight,  
And the warlocks are at their play;  
Ye think that without,  
The wild winds shout,  
But no, it is they—it is they!"  
― Arthur Cleveland Coxe, Halloween: A Romaunt

* * *

**Chapter** **3**

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Northwest Washington D.C.

Quantico, VA

_Thursday, 9:05 a.m._

The last Thursday of October fell two days from Halloween. Except, nobody in the town of Boone, North Carolina was in the mood to trick-or-treat. Four children had failed to come back home at curfew, each on alternating Fridays of that month; the first body – a 7-year-old girl named Jess Allred – had just been recovered that morning in an adjoining woodland, JJ updated to the team as she passed around copies of the case along the long table.

"The Watauga County Sheriff is pleading for us to come down –" JJ said, clicking the remote to the projector. "Considering tomorrow is Friday – the Unsub's favourite day of the week – our flight leaves in two hours."

"Why'd they wait this long?" Morgan asked what they all had been thinking. "I mean –" he glanced down at the file, "– four kids over 8 weeks? Watauga's obviously out of its depth here."

Emily watched her colleagues' reactions. Morgan wasn't wrong, but she wanted to avoid stepping on too many toes with her own judgements just yet. This was her first case as a full-time agent with the BAU, having just wrapped her probationary status this week.

Reid chewed on his bottom lip, eyes boring into his copy of the case documents. Garcia's vigorous typing on her laptop dotted the acoustics of the room. But everyone else looked up at Hotch and JJ in anticipation of an answer.

"County lines overlapped for the third missing kid –" JJ said, pointing to the onscreen map. "Watauga and Yancey, right here, so – "

"So they didn't talk to each other," Morgan interrupted, shaking his head.

"No. When they finally did, negotiations around who had command went on for an additional four days before Watauga County won the prize at three to one," JJ said.

"Lucky them," Emily offered for the first time since the briefing started, focus scrutinizing the file in front of her. "They wasted time for a pissing-contest."

A pair of blue eyes glimpsed at the brunette, looked away, and trailed back. Both her elbows rested on the table in a broad, determined bearing – she seemed angry, JJ thought. Something else – disappointed? Tense? The blonde watched as Emily's thumb came up to rub against her bottom lip before going back to her coffee cup. It was rare to get an emotional reaction from the new agent.

Most, if not all the cases that crossed the BAU's roster were unsettling – over 80 percent of them targeting unsubs who preyed on young women – but the special viscosity of atmosphere was palpable when it came to those 7 percent of cases that involved adolescents. There was an urgency, a special outrage when it came to victims as innocent as children. After all, who could be more irreproachable? It united folks from both sides of the aisle, all genders and ethnicities in a cacophony of panic, unanimity and indignation nearly Biblical.

The 80 percent of young women the BAU's litany of perpetrators preferred rarely raised any such emotions within a community, within society. And so, the team had a more tried-and-true formula for steering those cases without wildly unexpected hurdles clouding the scene. So, cases involving children were uniquely challenging, to say the least. Both emotionally, and logistically, and that was notwithstanding navigating the dark land of grieving parents, which was a singular kind of draining.

"The FBI's relationship with Watauga County isn't exactly ideal," Hotch added, closing his file. "Last time they called us down was for serial-arson cases, there were some – jurisdictional quarrels. Feds aren't popular in a red state."

"Arson? That was in '98," Rossi rubbed his brow. "Grudges, grudges."

"Regardless, we have one dead child and three still missing. This Unsub is not stopping," Hotch began slipping papers into his briefcase. "And us sitting here waxing poetic about bureaucratic missteps is only serving him."

Emily raised her eyebrows at an equally awkward Penelope. Hotch was in a bad mood, what was new?

The team began filing out of the room, but Hotch lingered. He gestured to the Media Liaison to hang behind.

 _What now_ – JJ thought. She had managed to be civil to Hotch since he had gone behind her back and hired Prentiss, but that didn't mean she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with him any time soon.

They waited till the room cleared out; the tail-end of Reid's narration to Emily about the etymological origins of "All Hallows Eve" still sounded down the hallway when the older agent closed the door.

He turned to an expectant JJ, who had a vice grip on a stack of folders pressed against her chest.

"Working with Prentiss can't be easy for you," Hotch started. "Whether you choose to believe me or not, I am truly sorry for how it all happened."

JJ's stare dropped to her feet at the older agent's words. She wanted to be angry, to assert what she deserved, but she knew Hotch was honourable. He meant what he said.

"I need you to make an effort with Prentiss. All she has done is accept a job offer."

The blonde stiffened, irritation returning rapidly. "I don't need this right now."

"There is a hierarchy JJ, and you need to respect that," Hotch said, he glanced at the clock. "Now we don't have much time. All I'm asking is that you give her a chance."

"Am I not being professional? I don't have to be best friends with every member of the team," JJ pushed back, placing the folders back on the table. "Kids are missing and you're keeping us back to tell me to make nice?"

"Kids _are_ missing. That's why I am telling you to make nice," he said, his voice softening. "We function as a team. You know that. We can't have any more missteps like Elle. Morale is low. And you and Prentiss are both a part of this team. I need to know that you can function as that."

"I can't just flip a switch, Hotch," JJ said, looking straight into small, dark eyes. "I am tired, of just mediating. Fielding questions to stall the press, the families, when you all are out there. That is the kind of work I wanted to do with the Bureau. You know I can do it."

Bushy eyebrows came together. Hotch nodded.

"I'll see what I can do. But for now, I need you on your game. You need to stop with the cold-shoulder toward Prentiss," he said, starting toward the door. "I think even you can admit she's a solid profiler."

The blonde offered him a hint of a nod. They both made their way toward the rest of the team. Garcia and Reid pretended to busy themselves, like they hadn't all just been discussing what might have been happening in between JJ and the Unit Chief. Rossi gave Emily a sympathetic pat on the back.

"Plane's here," JJ announced, clipping her phone back to her belt.

* * *

Emily was pulling her second shot of espresso from the machine in the back of the jet when she sensed someone watching her.

"Cappuccino?"

The brunette twisted around, surprised by the voice. She placed the hot liquid down on the counter before facing the visibly apprehensive blonde.

"I'm more of an Americano girl," Emily said.

JJ gave her a once-over. That made sense.

The blonde looked back to make sure nobody was in ear-shot, and inched closer to the taller woman. JJ opened her mouth and closed it again, steeling herself to look into Emily's eyes.

"You take milk?"

The brunette leaned back on a row of base cabinets, amusement tugging at her mouth.

"Nope."

"Never?"

"Not ever," Emily slipped her hands in the pockets of her pantsuit. "Unless we're talking a chai latte… and I might bend some rules."

Both women looked at the cup clasped in JJ's hand, the first three letters of her drink peeking out from behind her forefinger: _C-H-A_. JJ bit her lip to keep from her mouth curving up. She looked up at the brunette from under her lashes.

"It's oat milk."

The brunette scrunched her face in disgust. JJ gasped, offended.

"It's very creamy," she said, heat rising in her cheeks; she felt her shoulders relax.

"I just don't believe you. How do you milk an oat?"

The blonde rolled her eyes at that, her face hurt from fighting the smile. "Your loss," she croaked out.

Emily grabbed her drink from behind and pushed off the cabinets; standing straight now, a whole head taller than the blonde. JJ stepped back. She watched as she turned to the side and started toward the main-cabin to join the rest of the team. This was her chance. She reached out. She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but the tips of her fingers grazed the fabric at Emily's elbow and she turned around, her smile sobering as she scanned JJ's face.

"You can call me JJ, Emily," she said. "I'm sorry."

The taller woman pursed her lips, "I can't forgive you."

JJ's pulse picked up, she hadn't expected this. She groped for words to say. But all she could do was watch Emily's face. And it felt like the moment before your car spins on black ice, and wraps into a pole – dark red lips arched up, slowly at first and then suddenly, before Emily broke into a grin.

"I'm kidding," she chuckled out loud; Emily's had reached out to squeeze her bicep. "I'm kidding, oh my god…"

JJ let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Emily's hand was gone, but her grip was strong; the memory remained for several seconds after.

"You suck," JJ shook her head.

"Oh. That's some apology," Emily shot over her shoulder as she moved down the aisle.

Both walked back, their faces tinged with colour. The plane passed through a wet, cumulous cloud, shaking the jet, and the women faltered down into their respective seats.

* * *

Watauga County Sheriff's Office, Boone, NC

_Saturday, 6:53 p.m._

Two days had passed since the BAU had landed in the quaint college-town of Boone, and they still hadn't checked into their hotel rooms. In fact, Reid wondered if they still even had the reservation.

He arched across the scattered stacks and stacks of potential evidence to a plastic Jack-o'-lantern full of Laffy Taffy and rolls of multicoloured chalk-like candies. They were all over the police station – a sickly, saccharine assortment of cut-outs of ghosts hanging on every doorway and pumpkins and cauldrons bubbling with old-school candies smattered around – offsetting the tense atmosphere created by this case. There was no air-conditioning in the boardroom the team was so graciously awarded, and as Reid picked out his next candy, he feared this might be dinner yet again.

Another child had gone missing, this time a 6-year-old called Ashley Howard. Right on cue, Friday evening. They had a profile, a strong one. White male, average-built, mid-thirties. They had spent the last 48 hours scouring the dump-sites; having painstaking conversations with the parents of the missing children. Every time it felt like they might have a potential unsub, it slipped out of their hands. Two child psychologists in nearby areas had a history of assault and battery, but each had fool-proof alibis and neither had seen both the kids. They went down lists of janitorial staff, local parishes and even after-school program coordinators. Everything was clean. They had so much and yet, so little. The only silver lining was that while the other kids were still missing, no dead body had turned up, so theoretically all of the children could still be alive.

Nonetheless – the first 24 hours after abduction were the most crucial for adolescents – that daunting statistic was singed into each member's brain.

It had been Hotch's call to not reveal the abduction day detail, and now he was seething beating himself up over his misjudgement – droplets of sweat were gathering at the collar of his shirt but he refused to loosen his tie. He slammed a stack of public school employment records in the centre of the table, and they went flying out and fanned across the smooth surface.

Rossi barely looked up from his stapled heap of records, not given to indulging tantrums. The rest of the team decided to stay quiet, lest the Unit Chief lash out at them like he had at those employment records.

"No luck on the guidance counsellor records request?" Emily said, unfastening the first button of her shirt. She fanned herself with a file. _Damn October heat._

"We can't catch a break here," he ran a hand through his five o'clock shadow, and grabbed the next file.

"Do you want me to take a look?" JJ walked in with a crate of waters for everyone. "I've got fresh eyes."

Emily jumped up for a bottle of Poland Spring. "My saviour," she moaned. JJ noticed her shirt was unbuttoned.

"What?" the brunette asked, twisting open the cap. Blue eyes looked up to her face, realizing she had been staring.

"Fresh eyes?" JJ said to her, clearing her throat.

"Can't hurt," Hotch barked, tossing her a folder.

The blonde ogled the plastic pumpkin full of candy, bending across Reid to rifle through it.

"Uhg," she sneered, backing away. "These are all banana."

Emily's neck snapped up. "Those are my favourite…" she said, personally insulted.

"You're kidding, right?" JJ said.

"C'mon the banana ain't so bad…" Morgan chimed in, reaching for the pot of sugar. "I mean the strawbe – "

"Can we all please focus?" Hotch banged another folder loudly onto the table and the team froze. "I'm sorry. But I need all heads in right now."

JJ and Emily glanced at each other, guilty. The truth was they were all exhausted, hot and sleep-deprived. Tangential conversation was just a way to cope during these stressful, hopeless situations – a dissociative measure almost. But Hotch felt individually responsible, not going to press had been his call; they all understood that.

A phone rang, breaking the tension. Morgan put it on speaker.

"Hello, hello my glittering, gorgeous critters. If I may – "

"Garcia do you have something or not?" Hotch said curtly.

"Yes. Sir. As I was saying…" the fizzy voice crackled from Virginia. "I traced the sonar translocation services from each of the cell-towers near all the corresponding abduction sights. Now – Emily, I cross-checked those with the list of interviewed family members you sent me and I came up with one name. A Robert McMahon – who owns a property at the centre of where the signals bounced off of."

Emily leaned toward the Polycom, dark eyebrows drawing together. "That's – that isn't really possible. The McMahons live all the way out in Asheville. That was the third victim, Polly McMahon – "

The team began rifling through their papers searching for the name and the case.

"She was orphaned two years ago and moved in with her aunt and uncle – Jane and _Robert_ McMahon. The abduction sites were all in Boone, Garcia."

Morgan and Hotch began clipping on their guns; Reid was scribbling something down as he got up.

"I only tell you what I find, Princess of Darkness," Garcia said. "I'm getting an image on the address now and if it helps, it doesn't look residential… sort of like a factory? Or a garage I wanna' say? Emailing it to you all as we speak."

"It's a storage facility," Rossi said.

"Polly, that was the only body found beyond Watauga county lines," JJ said, strapping on her Kevlar vest. "He must have known that would delay the investigation."

Hotch and Rossi stormed out to update and round up the local police crew.

"It looks like he served in Afghanistan," Garcia said. "Honourable discharge four months ago. Mortar fire."

"That's too far back for a trigger," the brunette said, shaking her head.

Garcia began talking at rapid speed.

"He had a – a series of what looks like painful operations for the injury, and after all of those failed – a leg amputation," she said. "Oh my god, his body rejected the prosthesis leading to more surgery until he was fitted with a bionic-prosthetic two months ago."

"Post-Traumatic Stress can present itself in a – a variety of forms," Reid said, slipping into his Kevlar. "If McMahon's the Unsub it would make sense that our interview yielded little to no red flags. A key feature in phantom-limb syndrome as well as PTSD is the uncanny ability to dissociate. He could have detached from his conscience to a level that was beyond his reason."

"Kind of like a fugue state, I've seen it before," Emily said. "That explains the state of the body, he mauled them."

The two women tied their hair back as they all raced out to catch up with their Unit Chief and Rossi.

"Good luck and stay safe my loves…" Penelope's voice sounded in an empty room before the line went dead.

* * *

Two dark SUVs barrelled across the Appalachian trails, raising clouds of fine red dust in their wake. The team decided to lay low and take the lead while unmarked police cars would follow suit minutes behind them.

It was late in Boone, and a slew of vehicles were likely to spook the Unsub, Rossi said. A war-veteran in the middle of a psychotic break holding children hostage would not do well with loud sounds, the profile reasoned.

Morgan, Emily and JJ rode in one vehicle and the other three in the car in front of them.

Hotch's gruff voice sounded through the walkie-talkie.

"I want Prentiss and JJ to go in," he said. "These are very young children, all female. We don't know what the Unsub has put them through. We need them to feel comfortable in case they are sedated or dissociated themselves."

The blonde agent looked back to Emily, her throat tightening – she didn't go into the field too often.

"You for real, Hotch?" Morgan pressed on the gas. "This is an ex-military sergeant we are talking about."

"I'll be fine," JJ whispered, nodding reassuringly when Morgan's worried gaze looked toward her.

"We'll be right outside. We won't come in until either one of you gives us the distress signal or secures the children," Hotch said. "Over."

JJ turned to look out the passenger-window. The GPS said they were a little over ten minutes away. Watauga farmland passed by in streaks of dark-blue blurs as they rocketed along the curved backroads of North Carolina. For the slightest moment, her body contradicted the laws of physics – and she felt inertia reverse. She was very still and everything outside was passing by her at lighting speed; she wasn't able to hold on to any of it.

She placed a hand on her chest, the fluttering inside like footsteps against her palm. The small, metal pendant – heart-shaped – felt cool in between her thumb and forefinger. She took a deep breath in, swallowing the lump in her throat that the piece of jewellery brought up, and yet, feeling tethered to her life.

It dawned on her for the first time since they flew down too Boone – she could walk into that storage unit and all of those kids could be dead. She saw them. She saw it all. She would walk in, gun drawn. They would be there, waiting. All mangled, brutalized and torn apart like the first photo. Their bodies twisted at odd angles. Their eyes bloodshot; pupils dilated. They must have been so frightened in the last moments of their lives. She tugged at her necklace, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the images to go away.

When she opened them again, she was looking straight into the side-mirror and a pair of eyes – very much alive, glistening with attention – was staring back at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Emily didn't say anything, but JJ had no doubt, that somehow, she knew exactly what she was thinking.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all your kudos. I hope you enjoyed this one – let me know either way. 

Have a lovely rest of your day.


	4. Tell Me

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"A poor friendless child, apparently ten years old; but she seemed hunger-bitten; and suffering of that sort often makes children look older than they are."

\- Thomas de Quincey

* * *

** Chapter 4 **

Boone, NC

_Saturday, 10:34 p.m._

JJ felt a tremor under her feet before she heard the crash – it was nearly percussive at first, like someone banging a drum.

"Emily!" she called, following the sound of wood splintering. "You OK?"

"Downstairs!"

Two hands gripped a semi-automatic as she made her way down the creaky makeshift staircase into the basement; pupils contracted to the sudden loss of light just in time to witness the tall brunette brace herself for her final kick. Her knee lifted up and with a grunt, the entire base of her boot drove straight into the thick door. The force knocked it open; loud pops filled the air before either woman could register what was happening.

"GUN!" Emily shouted back to the blonde as they both ducked for cover. While the barrage of bullets was unrelenting, the shooter didn't seem to be aiming for them, rather shooting more as a defensive strategy. Sure enough, within the longest half of a minute, the gunfire dwindled off. A few booms before a groan sounded from deep within the darkness.

"Put your weapon down, Robert," Emily said, pulling her firearm out as she crouched up. JJ followed suit, bent behind her, her gun now pointing straight into the unlit unit. Her mouth went dry when she heard a whimper. Then two. Then three and all of them back to back.

They couldn't shoot.

"AFFIRMATIVE ON THE KIDS!" Emily announced; she heard the whimpers too. "Robert, we are not going to shoot, OK?" She blinked, unable to see anything except for shadows; the sound of heavy pants and whining suddenly filled the musty darkness. Emily coughed, the stench unrelenting. "I need you to put the gun down, Robert. Do you understand me? I need you tell me that you understand."

The younger agent glanced over her shoulder to the staircase one last time before following Emily into what appeared to be a windowless bunker. JJ moved swiftly to the field-agent's side. She wasn't sure who heard the click of the side-release first; it must have been the brunette because the next thing JJ knew a strong arm was draped over her shoulders and she was yanked down, being hugged tightly into a hot body. Her face pushed into something soft, but firm – the edge of Emily's Kevlar worked into her brow as she pulled her into herself. Another set of bullets sounded through the air above them, this time less motorised, slower.

Both the agents pushed the distress buttons at their belts, hunkering together in a tangle in the middle of the room.

"Sounds like a Glock," the taller woman breathed into her temple. "He can't have too many rounds left. Stay down."

The blonde nodded into the side of Emily's chest, where the older woman was still holding her. The fabric of Emily's shirt was damp from the commotion and JJ felt the saltiness against her lips before the brunette pulled away. It all happened very fast from then on; the next thing she knew the room was filled with blinding light – light she had never seen before. It came in flashes, and blue eyes widened at what she saw in each burst of brightness. Dark grease glittered around them. Blood. It was splattered on the walls. On the floors. She felt herself slip on it suddenly, her feet sliding out from under her as she fell to her back.

Windows. They were lined at the top perimeter of the room. The shots had fired through them – letting bright light from the fluorescents the FBI blasted around the allotment pour in like liquid nitrogen through the bullet-holes. Sirens flashed now, full of colour – blue and red – strobe-lights in a slaughtered nightclub.

She smelled it. Pewter and gunpowder all around her. The vibrations of a battering-ram floors above shook her out of the sensory overload, she realized her hands were still over her head. Her eyes were closed. The blonde came up to her feet, forcing herself to look. A mane of black hair was flying around like flints in the artificial light as Emily wrestled a muscular, shirtless man on the other side of the foxhole.

The next thing she knew she was running toward them, still stooped. Gun pointed at the pair battling on the gritty cement. In an uncomplicated swoop, Emily pinned the large man to the ground; her knees strapping his biceps down as the heel of her palm stabbed into his clavicle. JJ pulled the trigger – once. Everything stopped. Everyone stopped. The taller woman scrambled up to her feet, hands in a straight line, weapon pointing to the motionless veteran sergeant on the floor.

A slew of what looked like dung beetles began pouring in through the narrow doorway, long machine-guns brandished in front of them as they surrounded the scene. SWAT. JJ watched as one of the armed agents kicked the Unsub's weapon away from his reach. She felt cool, bony hands fretting over her hair but everything looked like watercolours – Reid, he materialized somewhat before her.

"JJ! Are you ok?" the voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a well. It was high-pitched, worried. "Hey! JJ!" She shook her head.

"JJ –" clearer now; authoritative and low, a different voice to her other side. "JJ, JJ look at me. Look at me."

She turned to it. Emily. She blinked, a sudden burning on her bicep. "Jesus…" She looked to the source of the pain to see her white button-down ripped, red gel pouring down her arm. She looked up, back into concerned, alert eyes.

"Did I get shot?

"The bullet grazed you, JJ," she said, evenly. "Now, I need you to put your gun down. The paramedics are just upstairs."

The smaller woman nodded but didn't move. Emily raised her eyebrows, more asking for permission than anything else. Steady hands came up to clasp the blonde's gun; her own arms were still outstretched as though at target-practice – cramping in front of her body. She let go, the firearm toppling over into the brunette's grasp.

Blue eyes focused on a clean line of crimson rolling down the side of Emily's temple.

"You're bleeding," JJ said.

She shrugged off the inquiry. "Go with Reid."

The blonde felt the thin man's arm snake around her waist as he guided her up the stairs; three children were huddled in the corner of the bunker.

Emily moved swiftly to the group, squatting down next to Rossi who was trying to coax the children into taking his hand. She made a note of the slaughter around them, her heart dropping into her stomach like an anvil. _The fourth kid didn't make it._

The older agent glanced at her, noticing the gash on her forehead but moving out of her way. Statistically, she had a better chance of getting through to them.

"Hi. My name is Emily," she offered, leaning toward the children but maintaining their space. "Can you tell me yours?"

The smallest child in the middle whispered out, "Jess." The one to her right followed suit, "I'm Rachel." The brunette offered a small smile, looking at the third and oldest child patiently. But she only stared blankly back, dirt, scrapes and old bruises marking her skin.

"Are you hurt?"

The two girls shook their heads; silence from the third. The agent glanced up to Morgan, who was talking heatedly with an officer while Hotch and Rossi were hunched on the other side of the room, over the Unsub's body. Three forensics agents were in the room too, picking at the blood lining the walls. She sighed, turning back to the kids.

"I'm going to be honest with you guys," she said tenderly, looking into each pair of glinting eyes. "I don't know how you made it through this. You don't have to tell me right now, but you can if you want."

She sat down then, forearms resting on her knees and fingers interlocked; a more relaxed stance.

"Now, your parents are waiting for you upstairs. They've been really worried about you," Emily said. "You don't have to trust me… I get that." She looked at McMahon's body, lying spread-eagle. "But, he can't do anything to you now. Nobody can – I'm going to make sure of that."

The two youngest girls got up to their feet, shakily at first and then all of a sudden. They bolted around the brunette and out the door. Emily gestured to an officer to follow them up and deliver them to their parents, she hung back for the third and oldest child, who seemed more responsive now but still immobile.

"Is your name Kelly? Kelly Morton?" she said, gently.

The little girl looked alarmed at first, gaze flashing from the F-B-I printed on the agent's chest to the blood on her face. Just like that, her resolve broke, her face twisting in pain as tears began falling out of blue eyes. She nodded, sobbing. Emily moved closer, "Can you get up for me, Kelly?"

"M-My leg hurts…" the eight-year-old finally cried.

"That's ok. That's ok…" Emily cooed. "Would it be ok if I touched you? I can carry you upstairs where the doctors can take a look at that… your mom and dad are on their way too."

The yellow-haired girl nodded, arms reaching out weakly toward the agent. Emily scooped her up easily, but carefully into her arms, gesturing toward a concerned Hotch as she carried her out of the hellish den and up the stairs into the ground level of the storage-unit. Hesitantly at first and then as though her life depended on it, the child wrapped her feeble arms around the brunette's neck; her strong leg draped around her waist, and the injured one rested on her belt. She buried her face into Emily's neck as they made their way out the canopy shutter-door. Eye-lids fluttered down slightly to shield from the blades of a chopper nearby. It was the press, Emily noted; she ducked as she rounded the throngs of law-enforcement officers and made her way to the paramedic truck, a hand shielding the child's head. She passed the little girl over to a determined-looking young woman in a paramedic uniform. Small hands clutched onto Emily's vest but unfurled eventually.

"I'll be right here, ok?" she reassured; long fingers pushing golden bangs out of the child's eyes. "I'm gonna' make sure your parents know where you are."

When she looked up at the chaotic scene – a scrawny silhouette materialized out of the flares of strobes lined across the plot. The brunette offered a half-smile, letting the relief trickle slowly down her shoulders and back.

"You need to get that looked at," Reid said, genuine concern shining across his bug-like eyes. In an unusual occurrence, the warmth with which he was watching her triggered a jumble of knots in her throat. A lump. Her vision blurred suddenly and she cleared her throat, pretending to cough; a sharp pain stabbed her back when she did and she winced.

"C'mon," Reid urged, walking her to a paramedic set-up. She brushed off his attempt to support her but let out an achy breath when she leaned back onto the truck.

* * *

A boy that looked like he was in high-school was tending to Agent Prentiss, but she scowled when he tried to rub disinfectant into the gash.

"Hey!" she snapped, pushing his hand away. "Are you certified to do this?"

The trembling paramedic opened his mouth began stumbling over apologies when Morgan's chuckle sounded out behind him.

"Leave the poor by alone, will'ya?"

Emily rolled her eyes, twisting the kinks out of her neck when he gestured for the young kid to give them a moment. She waited for him to leave before any hints of humour drained out of her face, a strained focus stiffening her body like she was ready for combat.

"JJ?" she asked.

"She's a little shaken up," Morgan shook his head. "No stitches," he waved over to the other van. "They're just bandaging her arm up."

"Just gonna' go check th –"

"After, you get that nasty thing on your head looked at -" he placed his hands on her arms and pushed her gently back to her seat. "Don't make the kid cry."

For once, she complied, biting her bottom lip as the hydrogen peroxide stung her wound. A uniformed officer lifted the yellow caution tape to let a frenzied couple run under toward the paramedic station across from Emily where Kelly Morton sat. Wrapped in a scratchy blanket. The girl blinked without any sentiment for a beat before lunging into her mother's arms. She had been with McMahon the longest out of the trio, the second one to be abducted. Emily flinched a little when the medic began dabbing at the wound on her jawline, a sudden urge to bring the nail of her thumb up to her teeth to chew on overwhelming her. She squashed it down. How would Kelly, and the other two kids ever get over this? There had to be at least two litres of blood in there – the red slickness flashed in front of Emily's eyes – fresh blood. How far behind had they been? At most, 3 hours. Three hours ago they were joking about Laffy Taffy flavours, when an innocent girl was getting butchered and three others had their childhood stolen from them. The lump from before returned with a vengeance and she felt ashamed as tears began to form again.

She watched as Rossi and Morgan glanced to her. They were talking about her, it was obvious. Panic prickled the back of her neck – had she made a mistake? Had she broken a BAU protocol?

The illustrious agent stood with his arms on his waist as he asked the taller man something, who nodded in her direction in response. "No, she's alright," he mouthed. "She's tough."

A tear rolled out now and she brushed it away quickly, along with the medic's gloved hand hovering over her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, alarmed by the emotion.

She nodded, swallowing thickly. It felt strange, restless, to be talked about. To be made a fuss over. She had never had that before. Later, not now, but later, Emily decided she would reconsider if in fact she had been accurate in her assumption of the BAU members disliking her.

Because right now, arm wrapped in gauze, an anxious blonde was racing in her direction. Two exhausted paramedics tossed their gloves to the ground as she left their grasp. She dove under a set of caution tapes in her quest.

Emily blinked back any moisture that might have evidenced her momentary pang of emotion, smiling coolly as JJ came close to her.

"All set," the young medic mumbled, peeling off his gloves as she gave him a sheepish acknowledgment.

JJ slowed down as she rounded the van to stand in front of the brunette; her breaths shallow from the run. Blue eyes scanned her face, and Emily stood very still when a scraped hand came up to trace over the cut on her forehead.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the brunette crossed her arms over her chest.

"One of the kids, Kelly Morton," JJ swallowed. "She didn't make it."

"What?"

Manicured eyebrows drew together before the blonde spoke again. "You must have known? There was so much blood."

"Yeah, but – but I carried her out," Emily bolted up, her eyes searching for the child. "I just saw her. Sh-she was fine."

"Emily –" JJ blocked her path as she tried to storm toward the paramedic truck. "Emily that was Amy. Her name was Amy Druitt. The little girl you carried out. We never found Kelly."

The realization hit the brunette like fatigue, and she felt the last bit of adrenaline dissipating out of her bloodstream as she slumped back on the paramedic truck. She tossed her head back and drew a deep breath in, the air smelled of pine and chemical disinfectant; she needed to lie down.

"I've been calling her by a dead girl's name the whole time," she chuckled, defeated. "No wonder she was sobbing."

"She was sobbing because she went through something traumatic. Her reaction was normal," JJ spoke softly. She reconsidered her next words before saying them, "Which… might be more than I can say for you."

The brunette arched an eyebrow at her, too tired to probe.

"How come none of this gets to you?"

"What do you mean?" Emily said, genuinely confused.

"You came off a desk job," JJ watched her face for any signs of a reaction. "Now suddenly you're in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies and… you don't even flinch."

In a practiced motion, two slender fingers came up to tuck dark hair behind her ear. She slowed her pulse before she spoke.

"I guess I compartmentalize better than most people."

The smaller woman shifted her weight from one foot to another, gaze trained on the other agent's defined, unreadable features.

"I can't decide if I should believe you, Emily," she said finally.

The brunette squared her shoulders at that, annoyance tightening her neck. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," the blonde whispered, honestly. "Whatever you want."

The two women stood opposite of each other in weighted silence; JJ's words settling into the brunette's consciousness and then swirling like fairy-dust into a gust of the Pacific breeze – warm and damp, it tickled JJ's golden strands, already mussed from activity – before billowing away.

Emily dragged her eyes away from the keen attention, to her injured arm, still stained with blood.

"I want to know how you're doing," she said, not looking away. "I heard it was your first kill."

"It wasn't yours?"

"I didn't kill him," Emily pointed out.

"Touché."

The blonde took a ragged breath in before moving to the spot next to Emily, she leaned back, deflating into the seat next to the reticent woman.

"Do you ever have an actual answer to anything, Emily?" JJ said, a tired smile ghosting over her lips.

The brunette let herself loosen, feeling some of her tension dissipate at the other woman's earnest query. A smile spread over her face, teeth glinting in the dark.

"I'm…" she hummed, looking toward the other BAU members before turning to the woman inches from her face. "I'm working on it."

JJ watched siren lights reflect off Emily's dark eyes. "You were incredible in there. You saved my life."

A trace of vulnerability came and vanished off the brunette's face and JJ found herself longing to see it again. It was replaced instead by the slightest hint of mischief. "How could I not?"

The blonde felt a hard turn in her stomach, and she looked away lest her cheeks betrayed the sudden weakness she felt. "I'm trying to say, thank you."

Emily nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand, but before she could touch her, her phone beeped and they both looked to the flashing screen.

"EMILY PRENTISS ARE YOU OK MORGAN TOLD ME YOU ARE BUT CALL ME ASAP" – both the women chuckled at Penelope's frantic message.

"You should get on that," JJ pushed off the van, laughing softly. "Welcome to the team, Agent Prentiss."

The brunette let her take several steps away from her before calling her name. That hint of softness was back on Emily's face, and JJ could tell the woman was not comfortable with vulnerability.

"You saved my life too," she said, the slightest tremble in her husky voice. "And without all the training that we get. You're going to be one hell of a field-agent one day."

* * *

**A/N:** Hope ya'll enjoyed it! The next chapter will be lighter, a bit more fun. Thank you so much for reading. Have a safe and lovely rest of your day.


	5. Big Shot on the Hill

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"And in his eyes he had the look of the cat who inspires a desire to caress but loves no one, who never feels he must respond to the impulses he arouses."  
― Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus

* * *

**Chapter 5**

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Northwest Washington D.C.

Quantico, VA

_Friday, 8:52 p.m._

Every time a case seemed to indicate they had unearthed the darkest patch of the nation, of the mind, the BAU members found there was yet another – much darker patch – they were far from discovering. This is exactly what happened in the border-town of Tijuana between Mexico and Southern California. An Unsub was targeting immigrants from Latin America trying to cross over into the U.S. without papers – fleeing violence, poverty and a massive drug-war brewing in Americans' backyard for decades. Nonetheless, there had been over three dozen victims, their heads decapitated and spiked on the Sheriff's residential fence, before the team discovered local police officer Ronny Boyd, a hunter-killer, targeting migrants under the guise of patriotism.

The case had ended after a two-day manhunt and the depravity of the killings, of the country's lofty immigration laws, had taken its toll. The team members trickled into their Quantico office tired, hungry and emotionally exhausted.

"You guys notice how the flight back always goes so much faster than the flight there?" Emily said to no one in particular as they filed to their desks.

"That's cause' the tail-winds are in our favour," Reid was the only one who answered.

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but didn't bother. Second month into the unit, she knew that the boy-genius was in fact a genius – but leaning heavier toward the analytical and logic lobes of his massive brain than the sub-textual. Out of the corner of her eye, Hotch and JJ walked up the stairs and into their respective offices.

As soon as she sat – a bright, sparkling blob covered her peripheral vision. The technical analyst, always uncharacteristically energetic and glittering in an office full of beige and black suits, was leaning forward onto her desk. A smile, slow, then enormous like the Cheshire cat, spread evenly over her face.

"Hello, Garcia…"

"Hello, Cowgirl," she winked. "Tell me – how long have you been gracing us with your brilliantly polyglot self?"

The brunette glanced around to check if she was being Punk'd.

"What is this?"

"Answer. How long?" Garcia wagged her eyebrows behind tortoise-shell frames.

"I – Gosh. About a couple months?"

"Actually it's been 72 days –" both women looked up to Reid, who was pulling on his corduroy jacket. "Counting weekends. Fifty-one, if one were talking exclusively business-days."

"H-how could you possibly know that?" Emily stuttered, looking up as his eyes lit up above dark circles.

Penelope placed a cautionary hand on her forearm, "Don't ask."

Reid took the hint, bidding the two women goodnight as he headed out with his cross-body bag bouncing against a thin frame. He joined Morgan by the elevator.

"Boy-wonder's right. It's been over two months since you've been here and…"

Emily's eyes widened, hands coming up in defence. "Garcia no! Not tonight. Not tonight…"

"You say that every time!" she bent lower to meet the irritated brunette's gaze. "It's Friday. We're going. One drink. One – two. Three drinks! Maybe four. No more. Promise. Max, five."

The field-agent chewed on her lip as she attempted to stare down the steely-eyed blonde. But to no avail. She let go of an exhausted breath, letting her tired body slump back into her chair.

"YAY!" Garcia yelped, walking backward to the stairs. "You will not regret it. I'm gonna' go get Jayje!"

"Yeah – good luck with that!" Emily called. "The media was a nightmare on this one. If I were a betting woman I'd say she's gonna' pass."

"And you're not?" Garcia turned over her shoulder mid-staircase.

Emily blinked, confused.

"A betting woman? Sin to Win weekend in Vegas...?"

"Morgan is _such_ a gossip," the brunette's jaw dropped. Garcia simply offered a haughty smirk and proceeded to the Media Liaison's office.

The agent wrenched her back and twisted her neck her chair, wincing at the sound of the cracks. Maybe this would be good for her – she thought – drinks with colleagues. Laying roots. Making bonds. Friendships. Long-term relationships. The restless itch at the idea started at her toes, and she scuffed her boots into the carpeted floor.

Rossi had headed straight home from the airport and the bullpen was now mostly empty – lights dimmed. Emily let herself loosen, head laying back in her chair – her attention tracked up to Hotch's and JJ's adjoining offices. The Unit Chief was scribbling stiffly on his desk and she wondered if he ever slept, or went home to his family.

A tired smile pulled at her mouth when she saw Garcia and the liaison arguing – their hands gesturing wildly – before JJ seemed to deflate. Her head fell onto her desk in a dramatic motion and the curly-haired woman grinned in victory. The technical analyst plopped down onto her sofa, watching as JJ began to put papers away.

She would be going out to get drinks with the BAU ladies after all, Emily concluded. Blunt nails grazed her belt-buckle as she found her tiredness dissipating into a hint of something minty – curiosity, excitement? She sat up, unclipping her firearm and snapping off the first button to her shirt. She tousled her hair, hoping they would be going someplace casual; a shower and some make-up would have been nice. In lieu of that, she pulled out a silver tube of a musky fragrance and rolled it under her ears and on the insides of her wrists. Squinting in on her own reflection in the dark screen of her monitor, the brunette rubbed a nude mahogany onto her lips, figuring it might match her shirt. She smacked them. Conscious of the sound, she looked back up to the blonde's office and crouched up when she realized it was empty. The lights off. Neither woman in sight.

A shot of panic buzzed up her core and she breathed in slowly to shake it off. Right on cue, two voices sounded from behind her. She turned just in time to see her friends rounding in from the hallway.

Had Emily wanted to pretend she did not notice how JJ looked in a tight cropped t-shirt, the clench in her lower abdomen did not allow her to.

"You changed," she forced a grin; her hands coming up to tuck hair that wasn't there behind her ears.

"Tijuana was hot," JJ shrugged. "Just ran to the bathroom to pull on some fresh clothes."

"Ah – now I feel gross," the brunette looked down at herself. Twinkling blue eyes followed, tracing the tall woman up and down, and back again.

"Oh please – when do you ever look gross," Garcia offered, reapplying red lipstick looking into her small makeup mirror. "Never. That's when."

"It's true," JJ said, hands barely fitting into the front of her jean-pockets. "You look fine."

"Don't gush," Emily joked, pulling on a biker jacket, hoping no colour was spreading up her face. JJ rolled her eyes. 

There was a certain salience in seeing the smaller woman out of her customary formal wardrobe. Emily had only experienced it once when they ran into each other on H-street a couple weeks into the BAU, and the physical reaction to her had been similar, but not as strong. Dark boot-cut jeans were painted over the blonde's athletic thighs, cutting off right past the ankles to allow a peek at her golden-heeled boots.

The gold glinted as Emily walked just behind the pair out of the elevator and down the murky parking-lot to Garcia's car. JJ's t-shirt must have been thin, because Emily noticed the bra straps pressing into her back through it – the fabric snug on her torso, clipped just above her waist-line.

Emily dragged her eyes away from the sliver of sun-kissed skin there, focusing instead on the technical analyst's story about Derek Morgan's pet parrot as they drove to the bar – disenchanted with herself for the oddly adolescent feelings tugging in her stomach.

* * *

21st Amendment Bar & Grill

Lafayette Sq. 16th St. Washington, D.C.

_10:22 p.m._

The third round of tequila shots arrived at their high-top just as another drink too, an oily-looking fluid in a martini-glass slid in front of the newest agent. Three laughs tapered off and as many pairs of watery eyes turned to the waitress.

"Gentleman at your six 'o clock," the redhead said, clearing their previous course of glasses. "You're popular."

Emily laughed awkwardly, eyeing the drink before tossing a throwaway glance at the man in question – he widened his legs as the three women turned to him – deep-set eyes squinted from across the downtown pub, and a thumb rubbed into his silvery stubble.

"I'm… good," the brunette said, forefinger grazing her full shot glass. The server raised her eyebrows, as if to confirm. "He's a big-shot on Capitol Hill."

"If I wasn't sure before you said that, I am now." Emily placed the glass back on the server's tray, and the redhead chuckled drily.

"Well, well…" an extremely amused Garcia pulled a shot of tequila from the tray. "D.C. men not your thing Princess? That one over there looked like Jon Hamm."

The blue-eyed agent squirmed in her seat across from them, readying her lime and salt; she glimpsed at the older woman from under her lashes like she didn't really care why she kept turning free drinks away. This was the second liquid gift from a handsome gentleman-suitor Emily had barely blinked at.

"It's not really the D.C. part that's the problem," Emily stalled with a characteristically vague response. She sprinkled some salt onto her hand; all three women raised their shots and threw them back. Faces scrunched at the pungent agave, they bit into wedges of lime, shaking their heads until the aftertaste wore off. The brunette was definitely feeling it. The moody lighting looked dusky with sparkle and her friends' golden hair brightened as she felt the hot liquor settle in her stomach.

"So – where were we?" Emily started, reaching for her beer, then abandoning it to lean into the table like she was going to tell a big secret. "Hotch! Right. Here's my question – have either one of you – ever, _ever_ – personally, with your own eyes, seen him even slightly smile?"

Penelope threw her head back, a full giggle shaking the table. Unbeknownst to the cackling brunette, a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes spread across the media liaison's mouth.

"Once. I think maybe once when Reid did this physics experiment where a like a – "

"The film-cylinder bottle," JJ interjected, bursting into a breathy laugh at the memory. "He did this magic trick experiment thing where the little bottle thing flew- "

"And I mean _flew_ –" Garcia took it back, motioning with her manicured hands. "Across the bullpen and hit Strauss right on the head."

The taller woman's jaw dropped, a hand actually coming up to cover her mouth. She couldn't even imagine what that must have looked like.

"And I missed that!?" Emily pushed on, taking a gulp of her lager. "That kid… is just something else."

"It is really nice to have another lady on the team, I gotta' say," Penelope said to the smaller blonde who nodded into her drink.

"And a completely badass one at that," JJ continued. "I mean – you can break a door down quicker than Morgan, and that's saying something."

"Chocolate-thunder is not happy about this, but I did hear it from his beautiful, envious lips first."

The brunette cringed, swallowing her drink down hurriedly. "You did not just say 'chocolate thunder'! You _didn't_ Garcia."

"Of this I am proud," the woman shot back. "Don't change the subject because you can't take a compliment, Cowgirl."

"Cowgirl – it's the belt isn't it? And the boots?" JJ said, angling toward Emily; an excuse to examine her.

"The belt- _buckle_ , definitely. The swagger, mostly," Garcia smirked, winking; she got up; it was her turn to head to the bar for their next round of drinks. "Of course the badassery too," she called over her shoulder.

The new agent blushed visibly, burying her face into her beer and rolling her eyes. JJ curled her fingers into a soft fist around a paper napkin, fighting the urge to reach for Emily's arm. She was pretty goddamned enchanting self-conscious – usually so confident and unfazed – who knew flattery would be her kryptonite.

"Jokes apart," the blonde said, in an attempt to rescue her. "All these things we see, and all these really messed up people – I mean, I've been here about four years now and – it's mostly men hurting women, you know? Women my age, your age, our age. It feels isolating on that jet sometimes, especially after Elle left, but sometimes when she was here, too."

Emily pursed her lips, digesting her colleague's words. Dark eyebrows drew together gently. "You feel lonely, on the team?"

"Sometimes," JJ nodded. "I mean. I love, _love_ everyone. Pen… of course, but she isn't in the field…" she glanced lovingly to the technical analyst talking to the bartender. "I'm from East Allegheny – it's a small, small town near Pittsburgh – growing up I never thought I'd be here. Now that I am, I'm grateful, but sometimes it feels like I fit in so well. But do I belong, you know?"

"It's a subtle difference, isn't it –" the brunette drew a breath in, biting down on her lower lip before going on. "Fitting in and belonging. I sometimes feel like, as women, will we ever know how it is to truly, honestly _belong_ at the Bureau?"

"You seem to belong, everywhere you go actually," JJ said softly. "I mean counter-terrorism to the BAU. In the field and the office. Even at local police stations. They respect you."

Emily swallowed, sticky. She took a small sip of her drink, not looking away from expectant, bright eyes.

"When you move often enough, you learn to be whoever you're expected to be."

JJ raised her eyebrows, taken aback by the otherwise reticent woman's earnestness.

"How will you ever know what you want, then?" she asked, fingers stroking up and down the stem of her own glass.

The brunette looked away from her intense regard – glancing around the crowded bar – the twinkling lights and the rustic creaking of the door opening and closing to let cool air in, people in and out – those who knew each other and those who never would. That was D.C.

"I guess I'll know when I have it," she said, tongue darting out to wet her lips. JJ's gaze fell to the action. Emily felt her breath catch.

"Hardly an answer," JJ smiled, dilated pupils caressing Emily's face like it was a foreign fabric, nice to the touch.

Emily's forearms firm on the surface of their round-table, she leaned toward the blonde as the music became louder and the restaurant more crowded. The other woman mimicking her pose on cue. "You're asking awfully difficult questions at eleven thirty on a Friday night."

"Is there a time you prefer your difficult questions at?"

"As a matter of fact, between two and five Tuesdays and Thursdays," the brunette sipped her drink, deadpan. "My secretary, Aaron Hotchner takes messages."

A low chuckle escaped from JJ's throat, she pushed away from the brunette in mock-annoyance; a small hand came up to muss through her hair. Glossy, russet eyes watched as short golden pieces framed JJ's face and the rest of it draped down her back and shoulders. The delicate gloss of the locks offset by the pink tinge along her chest.

Both agents moved back in their seats as the technical analyst brought three beers to their table.

"This has gotta' be my last one," the brunette said, glancing at her watch. "Oh my god, it's midnight."

"Normally I'd protest but I am pretty pooped too," Garcia's attention settled on the man at the small table near the door. "Plus you can reconsider taking Jon Hamm home?"

Emily almost spit her drink out and JJ watched, amusement nipping at her mouth. "Garcia!"

"What! We're all adults. It's not a school night. And if he's not your type and that other guy wasn't… and the one staring at you from the bar isn't – gosh you're really not good for my ego," she grimaced, trailing off.

"You are so sexy," Emily retorted, her voice intentionally husky. Penelope blushed, batting her lashes. "Nobody can be bad for your ego."

"You're correct," the blonde said simply. "I absolutely love you."

"You two need a room?" JJ commented through a forced grin.

Emily gasped and the technical analyst laughed at her unexpectedly prudish friend. "Besides, why am I at the centre of interrogation here – what about JJ?"

As soon as Emily asked it, she knew she would regret it because Garcia's response drained every bit of buzz out of her body.

"Well JJ's got Will."

Emily took a gulp of her beer. It was flat. "Oooh. Will," she purred coyly. "Tell me more."

The media liaison narrowed her eyes at Penelope who shrugged, confused at why it was a secret from the brunette.

"It's nothing. It's just, you know? It's casual. He lives in New Orleans." JJ felt a tightness in her throat, and tried to track down the cause but she came up empty.

"If you call dating for a year casual, sure," Garcia interrupted, adjusting her giant owl-shaped earing. "Why're you being so blasé about this?"

"I'm not," the blonde moaned, sipping her drink. "He's a police officer. He's busy, I'm busy and it works. Sorta', you know?"

Emily nodded, encouraging. "No, I get it. My ex was in counter-terrorism too – but the moving and covert assignments took their toll."

"So there is an ex," Penelope turned toward her, sneering. "Tell us more. What was the elusive fella' like?"

The smaller blonde felt her stomach harden at the direction of the conversation. "You don't have to Emily, if you don't wanna – right Penelope?"

"I don't mind," the brunette took a swig of her drink; surprised by her own willingness to open up. She couldn't ponder the reasons behind her transparency before she spoke. "My ex was ballsy. And very smart. But um – ultimately, she and I, we wanted different things."

The technical analyst was staring at her incredulously, her lips drawn into a small knot. The other woman was expressionless.

"Emily Prentiss – I am an absolute idiot. I have been hocking men at you this whole time when I could have been hocking ladies!"

The brunette ran a hand through her hair, stretching out her back. "That's ok, Garcia… I'm just getting used to the city and the BAU still. I think I need a break from dating anyway."

Penelope nodded in understanding. "Next time we can go to ladies' night at Bella Luna," she said. "It like – two blocks over. I wanna' know what your type is, Cowgirl."

Instinctively, dark-brown eyes flashed to JJ, and the brunette chastised herself when Garcia noticed. For a moment she thought the analyst would call her out on it, but the smallest of knowing smirks ghosted over her face before it was gone. Emily wondered if she imagined it.

"Shall we?" JJ said. The three women polished off the last of their drinks before starting their walk through the crowded bar in a single file. They had to push through swarms of drunken agents and politicians and interns as they made their way out.

Emily held her breath the whole time – the liaison's back pressed into her front as the crowd jostled them around. She wondered if JJ could feel her heart beating through her chest – the alcohol making her arousal myopic and focused so intensely on her straight, taken co-worker, she felt like she was in high-school again. Just as Penelope, the head of their line, swung the door open and the women stepped over the threshold of the pub – a group of burly men shoved past them and knocked the blonde off her heels.

On reflex, two strong arms reached out to grab JJ's waist and both the women stumbled out onto the sidewalk. JJ struggled to find balance, fighting the momentum of the crowd; she grabbed onto the biceps around her, tugging on them as she tripped forward. The arm wrapped firmly around her body to steady her gait, Emily's hand coming to press on the soft of her stomach.

The temperature had dropped significantly since she'd last been out, and JJ found herself falling into the protective embrace of the taller woman – her scent, woody and salty from the day – was all around her and the memory of last week flashed in her head. Emily holding her protectively against her body under a barrage of gunfire. JJ closed her eyes. The grip of Emily's palm felt scorching against her belly. A soft throb settled there and moved down to her pelvis.

Before she was ready, the arms were gone and her eyes flashed open to her analyst friend yelling expletives at the inebriated men laughing at their own conversation. Emily came up from behind her and patted her arm, nonchalant as always. Cool.

"You ok?" she smiled warmly, teeth glittering. And JJ nodded, mumbling an apology. She cleared her throat, shaking out of the strange trance.

* * *


	6. No Grizzlies Here

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"Americans will put up with anything provided it doesn't block traffic."

\- Dan Rather

* * *

**Chapter 6**

** I-81, West Virginia **

_Tuesday, 12:52 p.m._

Emily Prentiss, by nature, drove like a menace – flippantly crossing double-yellows, jolting brakes and stripping gears as she veered just along the brink of the I-81 – a spiky, cliffy highway carved along the steep mountain ranges miles and miles and miles above the Shenandoah River.

The veins in Agent Morgan's arms strained at every fiendish move the unruffled woman next to him made. He adjusted his sunglasses, zooming in on the GPS to busy his edgy fingers. After all, he would likely be plummeting to his death into the misty abyss that was the West Virginia valley at any moment now.

"God dammit," Emily mumbled. "Could you change the station again?"

"Christian Rock not your groove?"

"Sorry," she offered, stepping harder on the gas. He fiddled with the radio, as though a change in song would make her slow down. "There's only so many times you can fit the phrase "There was Jesus" into one verse, you know?"

He took a fast breath in when Emily pressed down on the brakes suddenly, hit reverse – impervious to the honking behind them – before she readjusted her trajectory and zoomed on again.

"The Lord's name might not be the worst thing right about now…"

"What was that?" she asked, barely glancing in her rear-view before swerving in between lanes to dodge slower vehicles.

"Nothin'"

Until now, Morgan drove. Always. Reid never fought over the right to man a vehicle, he preferred to sit in the back. Rossi much rather liked to go over the case files in the passenger seat, occasionally closing his eyes when Reid's diatribes went too far. Hotch drove the other SUV with JJ at his side briefing him on the media protocol that lay ahead. Overall, the driving routine was handled uncontested by the Alpha males of the group, Morgan's profiler brain deduced.

Since the brunette had signed on to the BAU – things were different. She was very much the Alpha female – he glanced at her, wondering if she was somehow going faster than the speedometer could register.

For four months now she had laid low, not challenging the roles of the team directly. But as she relaxed into her part at the BAU, Morgan realized she was claiming more space – her way of doing this was a breezy "I'll drive, Morgan?"

It pinched, giving up the wheel, but he had done it to not look illiberal or chauvinistic. The rest of the team had flown over the day before, but Morgan and Prentiss had had to interview subjects in Virginia before making their way to Harpers Ferry, where a series of home invasions resulting in rape and murder had made the small-town newspaper. As the death toll came out to over ten women over the last 3 years – local TV stations were beginning to swarm and the Unsub was getting brasher owing to media attention.

"Did you say something?"

Morgan turned the radio down. "You're driving like an insane person. What's goin' on?"

"What do you mean?"

Emily's clean, bright features knitted in genuine curiosity and Morgan would have found her endearing if he wasn't holding on to his breakfast so tightly.

"You haven't taken your foot off the gas for the last three hours, girl," he said. He opened his mouth but lost the words when their Cruiser flew mid-air over a speed-breaker. "Are you, are you nervous? Hotch and the team can hold down the fort until we get there."

"This is how I always drive, Morgan. It's the best way to avoid an ambush," Emily said, her voice softer. "Are _you_ nervous? I can slow down if you're scared."

"What? No," he puffed out his chest. "No. Of course not. Ambush from who, Prentiss? We're the BAU, not Mossad. You're not in counterterrorism anymore!"

She chuckled, then began laughing mirthfully like an opera singer and swatted his hand away when he tried to reach out to straighten the steering wheel. He would remain quiet for the next 60 miles or so.

Just when he felt reassured they were close to their destination, something horrible happened. Emily jerked into the Exit, and came out the other side straight into oncoming traffic – cars and vans and buses began honking and dashing away from their vehicle like panicked ants before Emily lurched back onto their side of the road – an ungodly scream came out of Morgan's mouth as both the agents witnessed a bulky cargo truck behind them teetering on the crag of the highway threatening to plummet to its death. It made a masterful save but several logs of firewood toppled off its back and plunged into the river.

Morgan's head snapped to the woman to his left, nose running, palm on his pounding chest.

"Yikes," Emily grimaced, jostling the lever back into Drive. "That was my bad."

* * *

Bolivar Heights, Harpers Ferry

West Virginia

_2:30 p.m._

The media liaison preferred handling TV reporters in small towns far more than in cities – they were more empathetic, less ambitious and far more manageable. In spite of the grisly case they were dealing with and the fact that locals were terrified, she knew how to handle the information going in and out of the mainstream network. Reporters in West Virginia gave families their privacy and generally obeyed broadcast suggestions from the FBI.

JJ's M.O. was negotiating with the evening news reporter to focus their stand-up script around the victim rather than the nature of the latest kill.

"You can't be serious," the woman crossed her arms, mic in hand. "If I totally leave out the rape, someone else will pick it up. Do you know how fast the news-cycle is?"

"You've got a huge Twitter following, and your newscast has the highest ratings by far in Harpers Ferry," JJ said. "We have confidence other reporters will take your lead."

The manicured reporter cocked an eyebrow before speaking.

"Flattery won't get you far, Agent."

"Did I mention in return, you'll have full access to the case, and an inside scoop when we know more?" JJ said, her tone measured, she glanced at the reporter's Press Pass. "What do you say, Katie?"

The woman nodded, interested. "I'll see what I can do."

JJ waited till the reporter walked to her van; then she forced a smile at a man with dark, luscious hair too thick to be natural as she eyed his Press Pass.

"Jacob, hi – My name's Jennifer Jareau and I'm with the Bureau," she repeated, offering a handshake. "You've got the highest number of Twitter followers and the best ratings in town. If you comply with us, other stations might too…"

She walked along the yellow crime scene tape stroking journalists' egos to curtail the spread of inflammatory case evidence; it had proved to be the first step in regaining control over the case that the Unsub so craved to hold. Though JJ fully intended to become a Profiler, she understood the need for a strong media liaison, and it was difficult to not feel proud of the fact that she had mastered the complex, albeit draining job by carving her own niche into it.

She was giving the info-control spiel to a young, balding reporter when butterflies began quivering in her stomach; she felt them before she actually registered the black Cruiser screeching to a halt in her peripheral vision. It was several yards away, but she knew it was Derek and Emily. In the distance, over police sirens and reporters talking into cameras – she heard her team. Their familiar murmurs. And she struggled to drag her attention back to the man in front of her.

It was another thirty minutes of setting up media red-tape before JJ could finally make her way over to the huddle. She kept her breathing smooth when she approached.

"We didn't expect you for another couple hours at least," the blonde said to Morgan. "You made good time."

His jaw clenched in response but she couldn't see behind his sunglasses.

"Lucky we made it at all, JJ."

Emily narrowed her eyes at him, "C'mon, I said I was sorry…"

He shook his head, walking toward the police-station.

"Is Morgan alright?" Reid asked the brunette, who was trying to call the surly agent back to the group.

"I'm gonna' see if Rossi needs anything," he called out over his shoulder.

JJ took the opportunity to turn to Emily as though she had only just noticed her presence. She was wearing a button-down JJ had never seen before, pricey and mauve, cutting nicely down her torso – the blonde looked at Hotch, diverting her untamed focus.

"Did you and Morgan get a chance to speak to Greta Armstrong's family?" Hotch said, not leaving much room for Emily to say no.

"Uh – yeah," she pulled out a notepad from her back pocket. "Also the families of the other two vics – Lorraine and Elena."

"Anything stick out?"

"Zilch on jobs, watering holes, exes and employers – the only thing that pinged were their running routes – they overlapped super briefly while Lorraine lived in Capon Bridge in 2018. Elena in Shepherdstown in 2016."

"Completely different periods," Hotch responded.

"But same hunting ground," JJ offered. "So… he stalks."

"That's what I was thinking," the brunette said, grabbing JJ's forearm in camaraderie. "This Unsub has a comfort zone. A period of two years, the same trail – even with an unusually high cooling off period of over ten months – we might be able to narrow down a residence. If not a current one, then at least a previous address."

"You should get Penelope on that," JJ said, unable to decide whether to move her arm or let the taller woman keep touching it. Emily made the decision for her when she retrieved her hand to pull out a cell-phone.

"Let me know what Garcia finds," Hotch said to the brunette. "Prentiss and Reid, you two should head to Capon Bridge and take a look at the trail. Hiding spots, signs of squatting, witnesses."

"Also might be helpful to see if any signs of seasonal cabins or vocations are what's bringing him here at every ten-month interval," the young doctor added.

Their unsmiling, dark boss offered a barely-there nod and began marching to join the rest of the team – his temperament matching the stormy clouds gathering above them like a Greek farce.

"Hotch!" Reid called out suddenly. "Actually, didn't Rossi want me to meet the security-alarm company – work their system of algorithms to see if it adds to the Unsub's career profile? Their office closes at 4 p.m."

Hotch's fingers came up to rub into bushy eyebrows, inconvenienced by Spence's reminder. "Go. Take Morgan," he exhaled; Reid jogged to the station. "JJ, are you all set here?"

"Just have to distribute the Press Passes for tomorrow's conference."

"I can go by myself," Emily offered quickly, thumbs hooked onto her belt-buckle. "Capon Bridge isn't too far."

"You can take care of yourself, I have no doubt Agent Prentiss. But we've profiled the Unsub's victimology as dark-haired females between 30 and 35 years of age," Hotch said, a softness in his command betraying reverence for the brunette. "I'd rather everyone be in pairs."

The blonde watched Emily for a reaction, but she offered nothing except a slight purse of the lips. She clearly didn't like to be seen as a part of the victim pool.

"So, Rossi?"

"He has a relationship with the sheriff, we can use all the trust we can get with indigenous law-enforcement," the Unit Chief said. "Once you've wrapped up here JJ, you can head to the Capon Bridge with Prentiss. I would get going before the rain starts."

Like that, he was gone, leaving the two women standing side-by-side on the maroon dirt path.

If she had looked at her even a second before, JJ might have noticed the muscles of Emily's face slacken as brown eyes flickered for the first time to look at her. Their gazes met only briefly before a crackle of electricity branched across the thick skies above and both agents looked up, standing still for the obvious aftereffects – thunder rumbled, grinding between pregnant rainclouds in warning of a November storm.

"I guess that's our cue," the brunette said, enunciating over the sound of tall trees rustling around them. "Maybe it won't be so humid after the rain."

"Let me just finish up with the press and we can head out. I won't be long."

"No rush," Emily said; they started toward the station. "Oh, by the way JJ, I meant to apologize…"

JJ ducked under the crime-scene tape in front her and turned briefly, adjusting the pendant around her neck.

"Saturday?" Emily probed, her eyes searching JJ's blank face for recognition. "Never mind. I get a pass if you forgot."

"Oh – you mean for drinks? With Pen and Spence?" the blonde fastened her pace.

Emily's eyes twinkled as she took longer strides to catch up with the smaller woman, "So… I don't get a pass."

"Nope."

"I'll make it up to you," she said. "This weekend! Dinner. Girls' night – which of course includes Reid. I'll cook."

Honey-blonde eyebrows flashed up and held there as JJ turned to the brunette. She cooks, too.

"Enticing," she said. "But I have plans."

"Ok well I – I should have texted back saying I couldn't make it. I'm sorry. I just – I – it was a crazy weekend."

The blonde hated the pang of something acrid she felt in her throat thinking about Emily being too occupied with someone to text her back. She shook the juvenile thought away, forcing her shoulders to relax as her legs slowed. She didn't want to seem strangely fixated on being Emily's friend in front of a group of profilers.

"Will is coming, Friday night," the blonde said, quieter, offering a small smile.

"Oh. Bring him!"

JJ chuckled at her friend's sudden enthusiasm.

"I… would love to – um," blue eyes skimmed the station before settling on Emily. "But, I can't. He's um… he booked a cabin in Myrtle Beach and wants us to have some romantic getaway for the weekend."

"Very sexy," Emily winked before she started trudging up the steps of the police station. "The weekend after then!"

JJ nodded, trailing behind her.

* * *

** Tuscarora Trail, Bilby Trailhead **

** Winchester, VA **

_9:22 p.m._

Emily had envisioned many scenarios for her lace-up Oxford boots when she purchased them from a boutique in Prague several years prior. She envisioned the staccato of them when she walked on hardwood. The way they were perfect for tucking skinny jeans into. The way the give of the leather at her ankle was _made_ for a switchblade. The way she could chase the fastest perp in them on the most unreliable of roads across all cities. And the way she had, on two separate occasions – danced in them.

What she had not envisioned for them was a slow, painful death by drowning in the heady pastures of the Mountain State.

Guided by nothing but a murky, everlasting trail flanked on both sides by wayward blades of prairie grass, the brunette could see absolutely nothing. But she felt it all – starting with torrential gushes of a flash flood sloshing her this way and that.

She muttered the vilest expletives every time her leg lugged up from the knee-high stream she was trudging through. Slippery soil underneath offering her no grip – she had fallen into the stream twice and nearly gotten flushed away into the Shenandoah. And as though the Gods of Climate were taunting her intentionally, they matched the ambiance to her mood – the angrier she got the harsher the gales did – hauling with them the acerbic scent of fertilizer and country-soil – the angrier she got, the colder and sharper and faster the sheets of rain. She plodded more urgently in the water as the night went on, and in turn, the rainwater splashed more violently around her.

JJ watched the theatrics from several feet behind, maintaining a safe distance from the brunette who was most definitely – a city-girl. Masterfully, even without any light other than the dark magenta of the Virginia sky, JJ's feet knew exactly where to go as though they had had years of practice in marshy farmland. And in fact, they did – for once, she appreciated growing up in East Allegheny.

She and Emily had been out in the trails for hours covering productive ground, tracing the victims' jogging routes and possible prowler-sights before they realized they were miles from their car. Unfortunately, the storm had hit just as they got into a disagreement about what direction to take – and Emily had, for the lack of a better word, begun to devolve.

A pair of golden eyebrows rose when she faltered again. Both her arms came out to the sides to catch herself, and she didn't quite complete the fall, clambering up to her feet almost elegantly and forging on like nothing had happened.

She turned around then and JJ might have reached for her gun at the sight had she not known it was Emily – half her body was covered in red sludge and somehow there were streaks of it all across her face.

"JJ!" she screeched, and the blonde saw fiery wrath in her eyes despite the storm. "Are you trying to get us killed out here!?"

She turned around and began her splattering plow. JJ bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Emily was out of her depth, for once.

"Your bag is kinda' heavy!" JJ taunted, maintaining her cautious gait. "Remember how I was kind enough to carry it for you?"

"Seriously, JJ! Any slower and I'll be hitting menopause by the time we get back to the hotel!"

"OK first of all –" the blonde yelled, exasperation getting to her now. "You are scaring me Emily. And second of all, you're SCARING me!"

"GOOD!" she growled back, "Maybe the fear will make you go faster and then _maybe'_ —"

Before she could complete her decree, her foot must have gotten caught in something because she couldn't regain her equilibrium this time, and she nosedived straight into the stream.

The blonde froze in place when Emily flipped over like a fish and looked up from under the muddy water mounting up to her chest as she sprawled on the ground. The smaller woman was staring at her with a hand on her mouth. Only when she came closer did Emily notice her trying to suppress the evillest cackle she had ever heard.

"Oh – very nice!" she scoffed, shoving her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. "SO adult!"

The blonde sighed, considered reaching out to help the cantankerous woman before abandoning the idea entirely. She crouched down in front of her.

The fall seemed to have humbled Emily because she deflated visibly, lowering into the water – the silt underneath making her feel like she was sinking. The liaison was staring at her with an expression she had never seen before. JJ's skin was pink alabaster under the sky, hair slicked back and eyes twinkling indigo right at her.

"Why do you look literally perfect right now?" Emily said.

JJ extended her hand, slowly curled out an index finger and tapped Emily on the nose; a jovial chuckle still echoing from her throat.

"Why do _you_ look literally perfect right now?"

The brunette swallowed thickly, rolling her eyes before both women tucked their chins in to shield from another torrent of rain slamming down on them. They stayed that way until the onslaught weakened into a more tolerable drizzle.

"I think I broke my butt," the brunette croaked out.

"You fell on your face."

"I think I broke my face," Emily said, her lips turning upside down like a child's. "I really think I did JJ."

"That's what you get for being mean to me," she said, adjusting her squat in the water. Both women frowned at the sound. "Ew."

"You're gross," Emily said.

JJ grasped in mock-offense, swatting a horsefly out of her face. "I'm so glad you can't see yourself right now."

The brunette extended her jaw like she was yawning, feeling the joint click. "Do you think I broke it?" she asked earnestly. "It's such a nice face JJ."

A smirk spread across the blonde's mouth, bemused by the woman's vanity – and yet, she couldn't deny her claim.

"You're too much," she stood before Emily could see the blush. "You need to get up."

"Oh! You're not even gonna' give me a hand?" she called out as the liaison began hauling their bags up from the water.

"Let's _go_ – before the Grizzlies get hungry!"

JJ couldn't help the laugh when she heard frantic sloshing behind her as the brunette scrambled to her feet.

"Are you serious!" Emily ran through the water to catch up to her. "JJ, was that a joke? Because it isn't funny to me at all."

Anxious eyes squinted into the reeds and the brunette stifled a scream when a horsefly buzzed by her ear.

"There are only black bears in West Virginia Agent Prentiss, you can relax," the blonde tossed over her shoulder.

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better _in_ the slightest!"

"Hurry up!"

"Oh pch…" the taller woman stomped, ducking under an unruly branch as she followed the haughty woman. "Gimme' a break."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your reading! And of course for your lovely words and kudos! 


	7. Nights at La Quinta

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

\- Pablo Neruda

* * *

**Chapter 7**

La Quinta Inn

Fola, West Virginia 

_Tuesday, 11:09 p.m._

The water pressure might have been piss-poor, the bulbs above the vanity old and dancing – but after the day she'd had, when Emily finally crept into a prickly motel-issued robe, all of it felt as decadent as the Ritz. She slicked her hair back and wiped steam off the mirror. A relieved smile crept across her face – clean and flushed from the hot shower – when she saw no remnants of the red sludge she had been marinating in for the past two hours. She angled her head up and down to check and rubbed off a small track of mud near her ear. Long fingers massaged a dab of a night-time cream under her eyes, then down her cheeks and neck.

The knock at her door came before she could finish moisturizing the rest of her body. She grunted, and began tearing through her suitcase for something to throw on. Ditching a blue sweater for an old Yale t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, she hopped around the room to slip them on; a damp calf especially struggled through one of the pant-legs.

"You didn't fall asleep on me did you?" Another knock, a little louder.

"Fuck," she mumbled, trying to catch her breath. In a quick leap, she shoved the cabin-bag under her bed and like a snail, left a trail of water from drenched hair as she jogged to the door. An inch from the handle, she slowed suddenly as though she had been in no hurry to begin with. Tossing a throwaway glance to her room, she took a deep breath in and swung open the door.

"Sorry," Emily smiled at the blonde. "Was wrapping up a work-call."

"Oh," she raised her eyebrows, sliding past the brunette. Two bottles of wine clinked as she slid them onto the side-table. "With who?"

Emily locked the door. "My cat."

JJ hopped onto her bed, a smirk lacing her mouth. "Good thing ya'll wrapped up because I didn't want to finish those by myself."

The brunette pulled two plastic wine-glasses from under the TV set. She blew the dust from them before twisting off the massive Red Blend. A whiff, then.

"Fancy," she filled generous glasses. "Who knew an Ice Box Gas & Diesel in the South would carry this top-of-the-line pour."

"And you thought you'd had better wine frolicking about in the French Alps…" JJ said the last part in a bad British accent.

Emily glanced up at the flat-screen on the wall to see a hazy reflection of the blonde stooped on one side of her Queen. A white crew-neck blurred on the dark monitor, branching into an outline of two long legs.

"I'll tell my mother you said that," the brunette said. "Though I take major offense at the word ' _frolicking_.'"

She bit her lip when the wine trickled out over the edge and flung a stack of napkins on it before grabbing both cups and the bottle in her arms. The liaison's head was resting on the back of the bed when the brunette turned around; she wondered if JJ had dozed off. She balanced the liquids haphazardly whilst approaching the bed, barefoot. Tracks of water had soaked JJ's shirt from just-shampooed hair. The outline of her nipples pressed into the white cotton, snug against her torso. She wasn't wearing a bra – Emily reprimanded herself for noticing.

JJ's eyes fluttered open, not catching the taller woman's momentary daze. She slid further to the side for her to sit down. When she grabbed the offered glass, she noticed how Emily was careful to not let the tips of their fingers touch in the transaction.

Without wasting any time, JJ took a sip, humming into it.

"Delicious," Emily cringed, swallowing a massive gulp.

"I can practically _taste_ the hangover."

"Yum," the field-agent moaned, relaxing into the headrest. "Fitting for our day though."

The two women sipped in silence – _silence_ that dithered between awkwardness and comfort as their bodies found a natural resting place onto the hard mattress – eyelashes flickered, settling on the dusky landscape sprawled on the other side of a massive window. For a motel, Emily thought the view was brilliant. Lights from truck-stops and 7-Elevens dotted the veiled woodlands of the Mountain State, vivid like stars in a night-sky but untwinkling like planets. The Shenandoah mountains whittled into the twilight and Emily was reminded strangely of her time driving through the arch of India Gate in New Delhi – lonely somehow in its massiveness in spite of the crowd. Lonely, maybe because its massiveness had been a reminder of her smallness.

Earlier in the evening, Reid had noticed an anagram in the name of the warehouse the two woman spotted right off the Tuscarora trail the victims frequented – and it had led straight to the Unsub's boat named with a matching anagram. Hotch and the team were reading the sadist his Miranda Rights by the time Emily and JJ reached the hotel – exhausted, drenched and muddy. Just like that, a case that was expected to occupy four days at the minimum was wrapped up within the first one. The whole affair had been absurdly quick; it was rare, but it happened.

Emily was still getting used to the uncertainty of their work at the BAU – the length and gore of their missions were not as easy to gauge as hers had been at the CIA, and that was saying something. She found herself craving more control, and yet, there was none to be had when it came to profiling – it wasn't an operation so much as an art – and in that challenge, Emily was impressed and aggravated simultaneously. When its buzz first reached her ears, the wine lost the sourness of its bargain tannins and began tasting nearly pleasant.

"Pen would be so upset we're doing this without her."

Emily looked to her side to make sure she had actually heard the voice, its suddenness breaking through the quiet.

" _I'm_ so upset we're doing this without her," Emily said.

"Oh? Unsatisfied with present company?"

Emily wrinkled her nose at the blonde, prompting her to smack Emily on the knee. It was playful – like they were always this way.

"I would FaceTime her but we might interrupt somethin' somethin' with technical analyst Kevin Lynch," JJ wagged her eyebrows. "Don't say anything to Morgan."

Emily adjusted her body to angle toward the smaller woman, away from the window with her shoulder now leaning into the bedrest. JJ followed suit.

"Tell me more…" Emily hummed. "I love a good office romance."

"I thought you said you didn't? With your ex," JJ took a sip. "In counter-terrorism."

It took the brunette a moment to recollect what she had told her co-worker in a drunken haze weeks ago. She let go of a tired breath when she remembered.

"Well its only fun to watch, not actually participate in."

"Kinda' like a car-crash," JJ took another sip.

Dark eyes widened and the blonde realized what she had said. She threw her head back as the older woman feigned a horrified look.

"Wow – "

"Ok I just heard what I said and that's not what I meant," the blonde protested, putting her glass on the side table as she broke into a laugh. "I mean – I meant like in the movies you know? Like in Steven Seagal movies!"

"That's terrifying JJ. I'm not going to profile you but that's just, very scary, I want you to know – especially the Steven Seagal part."

The blonde rolled her eyes at the brunette's dramatics, her laugh sobering into a sparkling grin. "I'll profile it for you –" she grabbed the wine from Emily's hand, "– it was likely a Freudian slip after sitting through your driving all night."

"Excuse me! I am a good driver!" Emily said through a giddy chuckle, not missing the twisty sensation in her stomach watching JJ sip from the rim of her cup.

"OH!" she folded her legs. " _You're_ a good driver and I'm a trained Israeli assassin."

"Again – curious that your mind is so violent," Emily said, squinting suspiciously at the woman across from her. "Curious, that you've stolen my glass."

If JJ felt at all self-conscious by the observation, she showed it with the most defiant glint in her eyes. And Emily had to hold her breath when she bent closer – the motel soap wafting sweet off her skin. Her arm stretched past the brunette's chest as she reached to the table behind to clasp something. She heaved the wine lazily around the taller woman's body, and the clench between Emily's legs was almost alarming when the heavy bottle grazed both her breasts; she gritted her jaw waiting for the reaction to pass.

Oblivious, the blonde topped off the cup in her hand and handed it to her, before refilling her own.

"You know," Emily cleared her throat, fingers wrapping around her glass. "When people came over to our house, my mom always joked how the driver could give them a ride if they needed to get home alive… and I could if they needed to get there fast."

"Is that right?"

Emily nodded, smiling into her wine at the memory. JJ filed away how her guarded friend had referred to the Ambassador as "Mom" instead of her usual withdrawn "Mother."

"So she'd agree with me then about how you're a scary driver," JJ mused, taking in the details of her expression. "Almost as scary as you were when you were yelling at me in the rain."

"I said sorry for that the whole car-ride back!"

"Yeah – but if you think I'm going to let you forget it, you just don't know me yet, Prentiss."

"Oh, ok –" Emily joined in JJ's mischievous chuckle. "Remind me to never confess any deep, dark secrets to you."

JJ raised her eyebrow at the husk in Emily's voice and looked like she might say something but tended to her drink instead. The alcohol was definitely loosening her up and JJ decided to be careful to not say anything too coy as the woman across from her looked more and more arresting. The blonde readjusted her legs, creating some distance between them.

"So what is it like, being the daughter of a U.S. ambassador?"

She didn't miss the tick of stress on Emily's brow at the question and immediately regretted asking it.

"How do you mean?"

You don't have to answer that – JJ wanted to say. But instead —

"I mean, was she ok with it? Your dating women?" JJ brushed invisible lint off the comforter.

Brown eyes widened slightly at the question. "You're very straightforward."

"You're not."

The brunette pursed her lips, suppressing a reaction to the statement. She finished her wine, before looking straight into the smaller woman's gaze.

"I got to travel a lot. Learned languages. Tried a really good Borscht in Moldova," she said, her voice even. "My being gay was not the problem."

The blonde opened her mouth to respond, but Emily interrupted.

"Why are you so interested, JJ?"

It might have been being put on the spot, or the way her frank question was offset by the warmth in her eyes, but JJ's heart slammed several times into her ribs before slowing down.

"I would make something up, but seeing as you're a crack profiler," JJ said lightly. "So I won't lie."

The brunette waited, feeling a tug at the corner of her mouth at the lambent cerulean in JJ's irises. The blonde slipped her empty glass on the table and hugged herself, pulling her knees close to her chest.

"I haven't met anyone like you," she said softly, a little more than a whisper. "I was angry at first, with you – when you started. Because I thought Hotch might give me a chance."

"I hadn't noticed," the brunette joked, trying to hide her intrigue at the direction of the conversation. "Especially when you reprimanded me for calling you JJ."

The blonde cringed into both her hands, going red at the memory.

"It's Agent Jareau." Emily tried to imitate and JJ scoffed.

"I do _not_ sound like that."

"Anyway…" Emily sang, batting her lashes. "You'd never met anyone like me… and Do go on…"

"My God… this is really going to be an unnecessary boost to your ego," JJ waved her hand. "But anyway –" her eyes softened, "– I – I don't really know why… but it's really hard for me, to not be interested in you, Emily."

The agent licked her lips. She had to tread lightly, she knew the moment JJ said her name – pronounced it with a lilt, musical and slightly nasal and safe in her mouth. _Emily._ She couldn't get involved.

"What's your family like?" the brunette took a ragged breath in. "In Pittsburgh."

"Unhappy," JJ nodded, smiling. "But very consistent."

"Consistently unhappy?"

"Always," the blonde chuckled, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "No surprises."

She didn't ask out loud where Emily was going when she stood abruptly, but something in her face must have given away the inquiry.

"Getting you a sweater," the brunette said as she bent under the bed into her suitcase. "Motel A-C is like a morgue."

The blonde stiffened, readying to say _It's OK_ even though she was freezing but the older agent was already offering her a neatly folded dark-green pullover. The fineness of the cashmere was apparent soon as she touched it and JJ found herself drowning in a sylvan scent unmistakable to Emily. She pulled long blonde hair out of its neck and felt her breath hitch at the look the brunette was regarding her with.

She raised her brow in question; the cosiness warming her instantly. A moment passed before Emily realized she had been staring, but she cleared her throat, sitting back down next to her.

"It's a little big but it'll do," she said, eyes running down JJ's torso and back to her face. "What do your parents think of Will? Will and you?"

"They… like him. He's easy to like."

Emily slackened back into the bedrest. This was going to remain professional; JJ's words might have gnawed slightly, but if she had any doubt, they proved it was platonic. She could loosen up, Emily reminded herself. She poured herself some more wine, and gestured to the blonde before filling up her glass.

"What's he like?"

"What do you mean?" JJ shifted, her previous boldness hardening into something tense; Emily shrugged, not knowing how to specify any further.

"He's very pure," the blonde said finally, her thumb tracing the rim of her glass. "He says what he means. What he wants. How he feels. He's an open book – I…" she swallowed, looking into the dark liquid.

"You…?" Emily urged, resting her head to watch JJ.

"I didn't realize it soon enough, but, we met and we had the same childhood – we grew up in small towns. He's family-oriented. But I didn't really see it as something I wanted, you know? It wasn't clicking, for me?" JJ looked up to the brunette like she expected an answer. "My dad is in remission from lung-cancer and um – through it – Will just, stayed. He was good, and he didn't leave no matter how much I pushed and he really, really is always there for me."

Emily nodded, reaching out to clutch the blonde's hand peeking out of her long sleeve.

"He's consistent," Emily said, feeling protective suddenly of the other woman. "That's good. That's important."

The blonde twisted her hand into the larger one, threading her fingers into the older woman's. Emily's hand was so smooth she wondered how her forearm felt, and her elbows and her biceps then. Navy eyes traced along them and saw the muscles strain as Emily clutched her hand tighter. They both let go together, hesitantly at first and then suddenly. JJ missed the warmth terribly and her fingers reached to feel for her necklace.

"Siblings?"

JJ's looked like she hadn't heard the question and Emily repeated it.

"Nope. You?"

Emily shook her head, hand tousling her drying hair. Her eyelids felt heavy suddenly and she wondered how long they had been talking. They were supposed to have had one glass of wine in her room, but had gotten two bottles on a deal at the gas-station.

"I do. Did, actually," JJ said, her tone purposefully steady. "Roslyn. She died."

Dark eyebrows drew together, before smoothening out again.

"How long ago?"

"Years," JJ said, smiling with all her teeth like that was the end of the subject. "Years, years, years."

"Does it feel like it's been that long?"

JJ let her teeth graze her bottom lip, "Only sometimes."

Both women leaned back on the bed absorbing the conversation, the air thick now with the weight of the words.

A tightness grasped JJ's chest when she tried to take a deep inhale and she wondered if she would get sick. She sat up, glancing to the tranquil woman next to her – she took a slow breath in, shallow at first – and the grip in her chest loosened finger by finger. She hadn't said Roslyn's name in years, JJ realized. She wondered if Emily might hug her now, hold her – Will would have, even Penelope.

But then she shook the irrational thought away; dismayed at how badly she wanted to be held – not by Will or Penelope or Roslyn, but by her striking, enigmatic co-worker lying next to her, lost in thoughts she would never be privy to.

"I should get some sleep," JJ said, stretching her legs and dragging them off the side of the bed. She glanced at her phone, "Our flight is in 3 hours."

"You've got to be kidding," the brunette shook out of a reverie. "We should get some rest."

Emily walked her friend to the door and offered a small smile as she stepped out. "Don't forget to hydrate, we really went after that wine."

"You too," JJ yawned. "I'll give you the sweater back tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," Emily shook her head, her lashes downcast as she examined the blonde. "It suits you."

* * *

**A/N:** Let me know what ya'll think!


	8. Sweater Weather

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"He reminds me of a comfortable sweater that you pull on, knowing it will keep you warm every time."  
― Katherine Reay, Dear Mr. Knightley

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_Lake Ridge, VA_

_Sunday, 6:37 a.m._

JJ scrolled past the name in her contact list several times before tossing her phone on the bed. The electric kettle was just about to start its tell-tale bubbling hiss when she got to it. She pulled two mugs from the cabinet, her mind still wrapped around the name her finger had been lingering on. Why was this even an issue?

"I'll do the black one, Cher."

JJ smiled, twisting her neck to look at the dishevelled man pulling up a stool at her island.

"You're up early."

"Grey Breakfast? The one I like." He scratched his head, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Be sure to put two of em' in the lil' cup. I'm gettin' no sleep with you clanking round' at the ass-crack of dawn."

"Earl Grey," JJ corrected, tugging at the staple of a teabag; she dipped two of them in a cup. "I'm sorry… I know it's your last day off. It's gonna' be lonely without you."

She rounded the island with the hot beverage and slid it in front of the thin man. Will pulled her into him and she draped her arms loosely around his shoulders, standing between his legs. The drowsiness in his regard melted into adoration and JJ felt a lump in her throat when he watched her like that, as though she was rare, not human, a Deity – it made her feel weighty with obligation. Her hand came up to touch his face, and she traced bony cheekbones, producing a sandpaper sound off his stubble.

"Ow," she teased, pushing off his biceps. He yanked her closer, lips pressing into hers.

"I'm lookin' forward to tonight."

Another lump then, and she swallowed it down. She nodded, a smile trained on her mouth as her fingers pressed into the sharp edges of his shoulder-blades. November had brought with it its erratic chill and she wiggled out of his grasp to adjust the thermostat.

"Rossi's parties are hard to beat!" JJ called out as she headed into her bedroom. She swung open the closet doors, struggling to understand her cop-friend's Louisiana drawl from the other room. Her _boyfriend's_ Louisiana drawl.

"Bring it on!" he said. "Trust me, Cher. Ross won't know what hit him. My Po'boys are a legend."

"It's Ross-ee, Will, not Ross!"

Realizing her winter clothes were still put away, her fingers settled on the only option she had.

The soft green of it peeking through monochromatic blazers and pencil-skirts like a life yet to be discovered. She pulled on the big sweater, resisting a sigh at the scent – Emily – she had meant to return it days ago. The fabric of it brought her back to her phone, she glanced at it, lying in wait in the centre of her pillow; before she could dissect her next move any further, she pressed the home button, and typed out a quick message. She hit send. The phone landed softly, back in the bed.

Will was sipping his tea, tired eyes watching as she shuffled back into the living room.

"Case?"

JJ shook her head. She dunked a teabag to steep a cup of her own caffeine. "I was just… you know, overthinking."

"You do do that…"

She rolled her eyes, leaning back on the counter as she blew into her steaming cup.

"I – a weird question –" JJ was about to take a sip but then reconsidered it. "I was just texting Emily, Prentiss, to ask her, for tonight? And I did, text her, I mean. I just was wondering if it's an appropriate time. Like if it's too early…?"

Will took a loud gulp, wiping at his mouth with the back of a hand. "Appropriate?"

"Yeah, I mean it's –" the blonde glanced over at the microwave clock. "It's almost seven. But it's a Sunday… I don't know why I'm thinking about this. I guess maybe I'm just anxious."

"Anxious your friends are gonna meet me?"

JJ bit her lip, her thumb working into the handle of her mug. She felt her heart sink at the hint of insecurity on the man's face. His shoulders deflated. This time without pushing away, she slid between his legs, her polished nails grazing the hard bristles of his five o'clock shadow, then down his throat settling on his chest. She felt his heart beat against her hand, his ribs prominent in between. Steady, as always.

"I love you JJ, you know that."

And if she felt at all giddy, the blonde didn't show it. She smiled modestly, heat rising in her face as the sound of a clock ticking echoed through the riverside apartment.

"Same," she croaked out.

It took only a moment of reluctance, but that answer seemed to satisfy the New Orleans officer and he pulled her in for another kiss. She could be taciturn at times, but she had had a rough year and he would never fault her for cautiousness. So what if she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve? Her parents' marriage had been bumpy, and so she perhaps didn't believe in love. But Will knew he could change her mind, he knew he could love her like she had never been loved. He _loved_ her like he had never loved anyone.

He would not disappoint her, not ever let her be disappointed. And as he picked her up and tossed her into the bed and pulled off her shorts – she still seemed restrained. But she grinned then, wrapped her thighs around him and slipped her tongue into his mouth. And if she was reticent still, he didn't notice it anymore. There was no time to remove her sweater before he was inside her.

Will floated on that intoxicating fuzz of post-orgasmic exhaustion, the blonde's head on his chest for a length of time he couldn't track – and he could have stayed that way longer if it wasn't for something buzzing under them. Like she was shocked awake, JJ bolted off him, her arms digging under his back to find the source.

She was more awake than she had been the entire morning, thumbs tapping on her phone. Will snatched an extra pillow off the floor, watching her, arms folded as a headrest to prop himself up.

"What's goin' on?"

Blue eyes looked between him and the screen twice before answering.

"Emily can make it," JJ said, the tension dissolving off her face.

"Oh," he scratched his bare chest. "It was an appropriate time then."

A blonde eyebrow hiked up, and she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why'd you invite her so late?"

"I have to pee." The blonde said suddenly, padding into the bathroom. "I don't want another UTI!"

"All the other BAU gang got their invites Friday…" Will spoke over the sound of the faucet running. "Couldn't get in touch with the newbie?"

JJ came back, tousling her hair. She thought about it before responding to the expectant, naked man in her bed. If she were being honest, she didn't quite know the answer either. Of course she was going to invite Emily, it would have been tremendously impolite and hurtful if she invited the whole team and not the new member who was quickly ranking up to be her closest – not friend, but ally? Confidante? Something.

"I didn't know if it would be her sorta' thing."

Will seemed to accept that reasoning and hopped up to give her a kiss before popping into the shower. Her phone vibrated again.

 **E:** _All the usual suspects coming?_

JJ's mouth twitched up, reading the text.

 **J:** _Yeah… Hotch has Jack's Fall recital but he said he might try to stop by later. Everyone else, yes!_

She proceeded into the living room, gathering cleaning supplies for a day of tidying up – an excuse, finally, to clean. She would be entertaining for the first time in ages. Maybe it was the fact that Emily hadn't responded yet to a text that didn't warrant a response, but something possessed the blonde to shoot her another message.

 **J:** _You're totally welcome to bring a plus-one btw!_

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she saw Emily typing. The dotted bubble kept coming and going over and over and JJ realized she was being insane. She turned her phone on silent, connected it to her speaker and rifled for her "Cleaning" playlist. Jack Johnson and the sound of the vacuum gliding across her rug drowned her thoughts out.

The past week had been demanding, to say the least. Two new cases had come across her desk that needed immediate attention and the team had flown from D.C. to Connecticut to San Francisco and back all within a span of 8 days.

JJ had had to cancel her Myrtle Beach getaway with Will – and swore to make it up to him. So, here he was, days later. And nothing would have made him happier than being introduced to her team, her friends, the family that felt more like family than blood – she knew that. So, in spite of the knot in her stomach, she had pushed through and done it.

Penelope was _ecstatic_. Spence, inquisitive. And everybody else, down for some booze and a good time before their week started up again. It had been nice, she had to admit, spending the past two days with Will – he had flown in from New Orleans Friday evening and she picked him up from the airport right after work. He would be dropped off again tomorrow morning, and while it had been a wonderful weekend of much needed skin-to-skin, the prospect of having the apartment back to herself was a relief to JJ. She would never say it to Will, or to anyone, but it felt artificial living with someone else.

Blue eyes snapped to her screen lighting up in the corner of her eye but she continued spraying the coffee table with Windex. It wasn't until she tore off two sheets of paper-towel that she leapt to the phone. She swiped up.

 **E:** Surprise me ;)

JJ let go of a breath that was making her neck hurt. So, that meant Emily wasn't bringing anyone? She'd inquire later.

They hadn't had an incredible amount of time to spend together since their wine night in West Virginia, and JJ found herself both thankful and disheartened by it. It was tiring to understand what she felt for Emily. JJ picked up her Swiffer and began changing the pad for a wet one. Her floors were _dusty_ – goodness.

Had she considered that maybe she was attracted to the older agent? Yes, of course. She wasn't naïve.

It had crossed her mind some months ago, once when Emily was slipping between her and a wall and she had casually placed a hand on the small of JJ's back. The firm warmth of Emily's palm right above her buttocks had sent jolts straight to her core; the authority and tenderness of it all, the sheer suggestion of feeling controlled by someone so impressive – it would have made anyone, man or woman, absolutely speechless. And had it rattled JJ? Yes, but only briefly.

Because then she thought about it a bit longer, and realized Penelope routinely described Emily as sexy. Morgan's eyes lingered on her ass when she bent over and even Spencer blanched when she came too close to him. She was gorgeous! She was well-off, clever beyond bounds, and oh so cultured. It was a heady combination to have in one person.

Plus, she just had this thing about her, this force – you had to look at her when she walked into the room. You just did. She had chemistry with everyone. Even Hotch. You wanted to open up to her and tell her your most terrible confidences, and she took them and probed and looked at you the entire time with eyes that you could absolutely drench in – unabashed – it was like you could say the worst thing you had ever done and she would take it and keep it and keep watching you in a way that made all of the confusion make sense.

Two weeks ago in West Virginia, JJ had stayed awake all night after she went back to her motel room – every tremor on Emily's lips, and raise of the eyebrow as she talked about Roslyn replaying in her mind. It wasn't until days later that JJ could digest how little Emily had actually given her. One or two mentions of her mother, but not anything else. JJ wondered how she herself had talked about her parents and Will and her sister and loneliness, with the brunette being so frugal with her own secrets… but then she supposed as infuriating as it was, somehow that evasiveness also added to Emily's charm. It was magnetic in the most clichéd way.

JJ scrubbed the countertop harder.

So it made sense, perhaps, her reluctance to have Emily over tonight. To let her even further into her home, her life, while she got nothing back. It made sense to want to enjoy the unfeminist rush she got from those lower-back touches without a boyfriend being introduced into their friendship. Sooner or later though, it had had to happen, JJ knew that. And she supposed the time was here.

"You're really goin' at that granite."

The comment beckoned her back from her contemplations, and the blonde looked up to a clean-shaven Will fastening his watch.

"You headed somewhere?"

"Store. For the Remoulade," he said, slipping into timeworn boots. "It's nothin' without the Creole mustard."

"Noted, Iron Chef LaMontagne," JJ winked, sauntering to the trash-can to discard a clump of paper towels. "You want me to make the marinade for the shrimp – so it's ready when your back?"

The officer went back and forth on it – not personally fond of the blonde's cooking – until for the sake of being economical of time, he left her strict instructions for what he needed to be done. JJ swore on the life of her beloved Ficus she would abide by them. That reminded her, she had to water said Ficus.

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of dusting and sponging and taste-testing Will's recipes for Worcestershire and buttermilk. He was dedicated, she had to admit – he had gone to four different Stop n' Shops to find the crispiest French bread. "The bread makes it or breaks it, Cher," he had said over the phone as he drove across the Potomac.

And as the sun began to set, dousing her building in a hue of oranges, JJ's apartment was filled with the piquant, intoxicating aroma of Cajun spices and tender shrimp. Loafs of bread toasted in the oven and Will's favourite Kolsch chilled in the fridge. They had argued over it, and JJ insisted on wine – whether it paired with the Po'boys or not – so they had settled on a few Reds and Champagne.

As she plugged in the twinkly lights around her window and lit candles – she had to admit – the whole shindig had cleaned up quite nicely. Her living room smouldered, dressed in flickering warm light and linen throws, all that was left was for her to get ready.

When she came out of her room Will was whisking his Remoulade – the mayo-based cold sauce he had gone on about – and the motion of his beater ceased limply when he saw her. JJ snickered at his expression; indeed, the long, crinkled chiffon dress had always been her go-to for Fall gatherings. She'd had it forever. And it fit nicely, clinging to all the right places, its warm earthy-pink hues glowing off her skin like watery clay.

"Well then…" the wiry man swallowed. "My shrimp ain't gonna' be the star o'the show after all."

The blond shimmied haughtily.

Spence was early, and when he saw her he stuttered – but hit it off with Will nicely. Penelope and Technical-Analyst-Kevin-Lynch came next and when Morgan arrived, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of them. Rossi was last and remarked instantly on the scent of paprika and horseradish, he was concerned Will might have burnt it.

It was kind of heartwarming seeing everyone in her home. She had gotten the lease on this apartment for a bargain considering her view and having her closest friends admire all of it felt less daunting than she had imagined. The evening waltzed agreeably into clinks of beer bottles and pops of wine cork as everyone mingled with each other.

However, soon enough the sound of the clock overtook the chatter for JJ, yet again. And she had downed three of Will's German beers waiting on the one person she had been the most nervous to see.

"Would'ya relax?" Penelope whispered, sipping her glass of red. "It's literally only six-thirty."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Um okay…" the techie rolled her eyes. "You've had more beer in the last fifteen minutes than I have _ever_ seen you drink. You've checked your phone like five-hundred times. I know she had a thing to go to with the 'Ambassador' this afternoon so if she can't make it – "

JJ's heart dropped into her stomach and she wondered if it was the alcohol or if tears had actually brimmed her eyes. She was alarmed by how rapidly she had gone from elated to feeling like a desperate tween.

"W-wait. She can't make it?"

Penelope gave the room a once-over to make sure nobody noticed her friend's sudden emotional reaction. She guided her to the kitchen area, a few feet away from the party.

"Jayje… I didn't say that. But you did kinda' invite her last minute. Meanwhile by the way, you look _stunning._ Have you seen how upset Morgan's looked all evening – "

"Ok, she just should have told me she couldn't make it is all!" JJ put her bottle down, lowering her voice when she noticed Rossi glancing at her. "I was literally texting her this morning and we got all this bread – "

The sound of the doorbell interrupted JJ's outburst and she scanned the group to make sure she hadn't imagined it. Penelope sipped her wine through a smirk, pushing her cheetah-frames up; the blonde glared at her.

"Who could that be…" she sang, gliding across the room to her date. "You should prolly' get that."

JJ took a moment to collect herself, glancing at her reflection in the toaster before smoothening imaginary wrinkles on her dress. She strolled to the door through a hallway, the doorknob looking brighter than usual. She squatted suddenly, to check her lipstick in the bronze of the knob and regretted it when all she saw was a bulbous forehead.

"Oh my fucking God Jennifer get it together…" she mumbled, bolting up and taking a ragged inhale. When she pulled the door open, she felt once again – a fitful range of emotions – highs and lows uncharacteristic to herself.

"Can't say I've ever seen anyone look so disappointed to see me before," Hotch said, a glint of sarcasm seeping through his monotone. JJ apologized, shaking out of her extraordinary distress when she let him in.

"Hailey didn't come?" she mustered out, following him down the corridor to her living room. She felt unsteady on her feet, and tried to slow her breathing.

"No… Jack wrapped up early. And, it was her turn to take the boys for milkshakes and ha – "

Another doorbell then and JJ let the tall man join the gang as she whirled around and started toward the door. A few oohs and aahs came from the living room when he walked in.

Until this moment, it had felt like an annoying truism to her, but when JJ saw Emily Prentiss standing on her doorstep, she felt complete.

A smile spread across her mouth, and was instantly matched by the brunette – so glittering and earnest that JJ had to chuckle, unable to contain the warmth bursting in her chest. It wasn't for another several moments, but the blonde noticed how well Emily's pantsuit fit her and let her eyes drag lazily down her figure. It was a navy, silk number that made the agent look like she had walked out of a Bond film.

"I'm overdressed but I had thing with my mother…" Emily trailed off, biting her lip self-consciously.

"No," JJ cleared her throat, stepping back to let her in. "You l-look fine."

"I'm blushing."

JJ felt her own hot face with the back of her hand as she walked behind the brunette down the hallway.

* * *

 **A/N:** What did ya'll think! As always, thank you so, so much for reading and engaging!


	9. Remoulade

**Pairing:** Emily Prentiss/ Jennifer Jareau

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

“It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.”

\- Leonardo da Vinci

* * *

Chapter 9

When she picked up a fork and a knife to delicately pluck out a fat, crispy crustacean from what looked like a glorified Subway sandwich – Emily found a pair of green eyes shooting to her like boomerangs.

“Prentiss… nah,” Will said, swallowing a massive bite.

Her hands – silverware intact – stilled mid-air. A shapely eyebrow rose slightly and this time the blonde woman next to him, mouth full like a chipmunk, tried to mumble to her.

“What?”

The agent looked in between the duo and then the rest of the gang – sprawled in various positions across JJ’s living room – some on the floor, some on the couch, and Rossi, at the island above everybody – all in various stages of masticating the NOLA delicacy.

“I think what Detective LaMontagne is trying to say i – “

“Spence, my friend, I’m interruptin’ but please…” the thin man crooned. “It’s Will.”

Emily pursed her lips to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Oh uh – Sorry about that Dete – Will…” Reid began, putting his plate down and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Morgan attempted to stop what was about to ensue with a low “Kid c’mon now…” but to no avail. The prodigy was a monster with three beers in him. He returned his scathing attention to the brunette, her head tilted limply to the side.

“As I was saying, prejudicially harvesting ingredients from a Po’boy disregards the entire purpose of its composition. Not only because it interferes with the proper proportion of sauce to protein to starch but because you come off as… well – elitist.”

Will took a gulp of his beer, looking between the two BAU agents. This crew was something else.

Emily widened her stance, placing her utensils on the coffee-table with a clink. “Uh – _elitist_?”

“Yes as a matter of fact, Po’boy comes from the phrase _Poor Boy_ ,” Reid leaned forward, his skeletal fingers getting ready to talk along with his mouth. “It comes from a 1929 New Orleans streetcar strike where the poor picketers were fed sandwiches free of charge by two brothers – Benny and Clovis Martin for days until the protest ended.”

“Riveting,” Garcia chirped, taking a sip of her wine; she patted the brunette’s thigh from where she was seated on the floor. “Cowgirl, please put an end to our misery and eat like the rest of us hoi polloi.”

Emily narrowed her eyes at the oblivious doctor and stifled a comeback about how she routinely ate Ethiopian food with her hands. She was _not_ elitist. It took effort to bite her tongue about the obviously pricey designer scarf in purple, that the scrawny man had wrapped around his neck. Instead, with her thumb, she slipped the shrimp back in, spread her grip along the length of the jam-packed baguette, pressed down and opened her mouth as wide as it would go – if she was at all disconcerted by eight people gawking at her, she didn’t show it. Lemon juice and hot sauce trickled down her face as she bit into the hoagie with a crunch. Will nodded, seemingly satisfied; Garcia clapped mockingly; others chuckled, petering back into conversations they were having before Reid had shoved the spotlight onto the _snooty_ brunette.

With a reasonable amount of disdain, Emily admitted the Po’boy was a serious delight – she chewed, reaching for a napkin to wipe it off her chin, and found herself impressed by the eruption of flavour and the fresh fish. It was more than a budget franchise double-decker, that much was true. Unable to speak with her mouth full, she returned Will’s nod, her eyelids heavy with palatal gratification. A thin, crooked, but earnest smile spread across his face and Emily tried to match it. Will grabbed a Kolsch from the cooler and snapped off its cap before sliding it across the coffee-table. With only a moment of hesitation, Emily’s long arm stretched past her glass of red wine to grab the beer. _Grape or grain, but never the twain_ … her grandmother’s words from when she was in college echoed through her head as she took a swig.

It would have gone smoothly too – the swig – had she not looked at JJ, getting up off a shaggy rug at just that moment.

Crisp and hoppy, the cool beer fizzed into Emily’s mouth when her gaze skimmed the blonde’s throat; the neckline of JJ’s diaphanous dress dipped as she crouched up and stacked plates and bowls in her arms. Dark eyes inched lower, to the blonde’s clavicle and then to plump, smooth cleavage – only for a flash. JJ stood then, adjusting her strap, and whether it was the _grape and grain_ or her taste-buds still hopping from Tabasco – Emily couldn’t look away, at least not fast enough – and like a reflex, a pair of blue eyes came up to meet hers. The image of JJ’s breasts, unrestrained and firm, zipped in front of Emily’s vision once more and she blanched when she realized she had been caught. Her gasp into the beer bottle was involuntary.

Garcia began rubbing her back when the hacking wouldn’t stop; through eyes blurred with tears, she watched the blonde saunter into the kitchen.

“Must-must’ve gone down the wrong pipe…” she croaked out, dabbing at her lips with a crumpled tissue.

“No kiddin’” Will said obliviously, polishing off his glass. “You chokin’ was not my intention Prentiss. Just wanted you to try it the right way…”

Emily mumbled out a lukewarm response. She scanned the living room to see if anyone had noticed the source of her spastic behaviour, but the group seemed content and distracted – so much for a room of crack profilers. She took another nip of her drink, slower this time.

“You want me to get you some water?” the dark man next to her whispered. She patted his buff arm.

“It’s fine Morgan, I’ll go grab some – I should probably clean this off too...” The agent gestured to the droplets of alcohol trailing her nice suit like perfect diamonds.

As she stood, Emily found herself feeling the slackening effects of alcohol, and of wound up emotions, yet again; her growing affection for the team dawning on her as she glanced back to them.

The agent had spent the entire evening at her mother’s side swanning about a charity event in D.C., smiling and schmoozing and pretending to believe in a “Business Execs for National Security” cause as the one percent floated in their champagne-and-caviar tinted bubble. Unaware and entirely tone-deaf to the very real nutrition, shelter and education-based disparities that would benefit from even a fraction of the funds they were raising, senators and congressmen were lulled into recruiting special interest groups prepping yet another election-cycle. It was the sort of event which comprised of everything the brunette despised about her mother’s life.

Emily’s actual work profiling with the Bureau transcended that sort of posturing, without a doubt. But what brought on a sentimental lump in her chest this night was not love of psychoanalyzing serial-killers, but the unpretentious care Morgan had shown at her guzzling beer too fast owing to a hot pair of tits – or that Reid showed in his own dorky way in wanting her to get the ultimate Po’boy experience. None of that was lost on her as rare, and precious camaraderie she had never had in her career.

Of course, now was hardly the time to rhapsodize about these things, but it had been an emotionally demanding day and as the brunette closed the bathroom door behind her, muffling Hotch’s satirically girlish laugh – she appreciated the quiet, the first moment she had had to herself all day.

Usually, after the Ambassador’s galas, Emily had the luxury of heading home with a peg or two of Scotch and a massive, warm bed. Not tonight.

“Sorry JJ. Can’t make it” – had been on her lips when her co-worker texted an invite. Saying yes to mingling with co-workers was not a habit she made. She learned that a long time ago.

Besides, Emily didn’t know how long she would be in Virginia for. She never knew. Everything depended on something, on someone – first her mother, then the CIA, then Interpol. Now… Strauss? Still the CIA? She stared at her reflection, the attentive smile wearing off slowly to reveal the faintest trace of laughter-lines. _Ian Doyle?_ From an inside-pocket, Emily pulled out a nude lip-colour and began reapplying it. _Was it Still her mother?_ Who knew… _The FBI?_

A forefinger came up to rub off the tiniest of smudges near the corner of her mouth.

Nonetheless, in spite her reservations around attachment to Virginia, Emily had said yes to tonight. And here she was. Staring at herself in her friend’s lavender bathroom. Those boundaries she had practiced in therapy shifting like sand from low tide to high.

In spite the bits of biting irritation every time JJ’s boyfriend wrapped an arm around the blonde or called her a mawkish “Cher” – she groaned at the image, ripping toilet paper off to clean the booze she spilled on herself – in spite that part, it had been a really nice night.

The bath tissue was doing nothing. Dammit… she blew on the dust that ripped off and stuck on top of the stain.

Whether she could digest its implications or not, Emily knew she had said yes because with that group out there, it felt easy to say yes. It felt easy to be herself – at least the most “herself” she could ever be.

It wasn’t a cakewalk. No. To someone unaccustomed to taking it easy, a good time can feel like a chore. The night had been smattered plenty with false grins and forced laughs. But in the moments where familiar anxiety pinched at her neck, she cracked a joke and floated atop Penelope’s mirthful cackle. Moments where she felt the weariness that came after spending hours with her mother, she hid her face in her glass. When she felt irked by Will LaMontagne, she complimented his Remoulade.

And in the moments most trying of all, where Emily felt like her heart was caught in her throat – the flickers, just glittery ghosts of time where JJ turned to check on her – just so, always understated and rarely with any outcome, but enduring – she had done it abidingly throughout the evening, when Emily didn’t chuckle quickly enough at something Kevin said, if her glass was empty, or for other reasons perhaps only JJ knew – the glimpses were effortless like it had been an age-old habit of hers to make sure Emily was alright – in those moments, heart in throat, stomach tightened, Emily reminded herself to breathe slowly in. Then out. And to look away, focus on the food and the clock and on Rossi’s glitzy rings.

JJ was off limits. Emily adjusted the buttons of her blazer as she readied to step back out into the world of socialization. She had known it that night after the motel in West Virginia – she couldn’t afford indulging any teenage crushes, not on the blonde. Emily was here to focus on herself, to heal and to be intellectually fulfilled. To be safe. She had to emphasize that.

She felt more poised as she swung open the door and strolled down the corridor – an endeared scoff came out of her when she heard Spencer go on about the “Poor Boy” car-strike in the other room.

However, as quickly as they had come, all deliberations of everything were immediately propelled out of her brain when she rounded into the kitchen and saw JJ bent over, head in the dishwasher adjusting dirty bowls. She looked up at the sound of the brunette’s footsteps, a soft smirk lacing her mouth.

“Glad to see you didn’t drown in Will’s beer.”

Emily bit the inside of her cheek from smiling too wide at the woman’s knowing expression. JJ’s eyes tracked her as she moved closer to the sink, but she continued filing plates into the dishwasher.

“Need some help?” Emily cleared her throat, filling a glass of water.

“Nah it’s ok… it calms me,” JJ answered. “Need some baking soda?”

The taller woman blinked dumbly as she guzzled the glass and refilled it. JJ let go of the handle, letting the washer shut with an electronic beep. She stood to her full height. Emily thought she cut quite the domestic figure, all pretty in pink with a dishrag in her hands, hair tied back loosely save for a few pieces, face all made. If the image made her feel any which way, nobody would have known; she leaned back on the counter, sipping the water a little less voraciously now.

JJ took a small step in her direction, letting her eyes, like before when she had greeted the agent at the door, trail languidly down Emily’s torso, and up again to settle on the slim lapel of her dark jacket – utterly snug across the brunette’s generous chest.

Emily forced a warm sip down her throat, hoping the gulp had been so cartoonishly loud only in her own ears. The blonde had a buzz going, that much she could tell; her cheeks rosy and shoulders loose. With some caution, Emily followed the younger woman’s scrutiny and noticed it settled on the splash of beer at her chest, whitened and ugly from her attempts at rubbing it with soft paper.

The agent deflated, feeling not only an understanding of what the woman was offering – baking soda for a beer stain – but also just a hint of disappointment.

“Oh,” Emily swallowed, tucking back her hair. “Yeah, sure.”

The blonde smiled, heading to the other side of the kitchen and standing on her tip-toes to grab a yellow box from the top shelf. Her fingertips just grazed it but ended up pushing it further back.

“Uhg…” she groaned, twisting her neck to the woman still in her place. “I hate when Will moves things around.”

She tried again, this time on one leg, balancing on the ball of her foot. Emily let her flail for a few more tries but when JJ began pushing off the granite, she gave in. The blonde felt the distinct temperature of the taller woman behind her before she saw her shadow against the cabinets. She froze, but then pushed forward to create distance; the edge of the counter grinding into her pelvic bone painfully. In a quick swoop, the brunette arched over her, one hand clutching the granite an inch from JJ’s waist – her sinewy body flush behind the blonde with maybe a thick magazine’s distance in between them. A whiff of woody floral perfume scarcely hit JJ’s senses before Emily plucked out the box and took several steps back. JJ let go of a breath. Emily was out of her space as quickly as she had come into it, inclined back next to her now.

The blonde murmured a thanks. She proceeded to grab a bowl and a tall bottle of vinegar and began mixing the ingredients together, its sharp, acetic fumes snaking around the kitchen. The chinking of the spoon barely competed with the sound of blood gushing through JJ’s ears.

“So, did you know Hotch laughed like that?”

The blonde looked up at the deadpan comment; a weary smile spreading across her face, her pulse slowing. She shook her head, knotting the dishrag twice and dipping it into the solution.

“Wait till you hear him cry…”

Emily’s sobered at that, her eyes widening slightly.

“Uh – I… don’t know why I said that,” JJ said, a hand coming up to her mouth. “I’m… I’m just tired I think…”

The taller woman burst into a breathy laugh.

“Stop it…” JJ whined, shoving her arm. “I’ve only ever heard it once! Once… When Jack was born!”

“You say the darndest things …” Emily said in a Southern accent, exhaling blearily as she hopped up to sit on the counter. 

The blonde bit her lip, watching the taller woman from under her lashes. “Were you imitating Will just then?”

The dark-haired woman blinked doe-eyed, feigning innocence. “I would never…”

“Here. Clean yourself up.”

Emily accepted the soaked cloth, dipping it in the bowl before she began rubbing at her lapel. The blonde began hovering around her kitchen again, and paused only to start the dishwasher. But when she turned to glance at a hopeless Emily chafing at her jacket, her jaw dropped.

“Emily.”

“What…”

JJ walked to her and grabbed her hand, stringing the rag out of it. “You grew up with maids I just know it…”

The brunette cocked an eyebrow, mostly tickled by the comment that would usually annoy her.

“Dab… Dab. You silly woman…” the blonde smeared the rag with the remaining solution. “Not strip layers off your fancy suit.”

Emily opened her mouth to protest but stopped everything when the smaller woman pressed into her knees, the soft of her stomach pushing against her shins as she was still perched on the counter three heads above the blonde. JJ proceeded to trace the stained lapel before tucking two of her fingers behind it to pinch the material. Emily felt the muscles on the insides of her thighs squeeze together.

“Wh- What are you doing…”she whispered, stiffening at the feel of the blonde’s knuckles inches above her nipple. “JJ…”

“Dabbing.”

“Your hands are freezing.” Emily’s voice was hoarse, her grip tight on the edge of the counter.

“It’ll only be a minute.”

“You have terrible circulation. Why are your hands so cold…”

JJ leaned further in, her focus flashing up to the alert agent before going back to her lapel. “Why are you constantly such a baby?”

Emily took in the sassy liaison a hairsbreadth from her face, she had never noticed how dark blue the rings arounds JJ’s irises were. “You did not just say that.”

“You heard me.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes at the adorable woman, wiping excess vinegar off the fabric with her thumb before using the dry side of the cloth.

“And don’t ask me why,” JJ went on, her brow knitted at the stain. “I’m too tired to fight with you.”

The brunette lowered her head to get a better look at her, her chest burning where she was touching her.

“I didn’t ask,” Emily cleared her throat. “But for the record, you’re never too tired to fight with me.”

Penelope’s laugh bounced from the other room and both the women smiled at it.

“We should probably head out there soon…” the brunette said.

JJ's lips parted in concentration, her chest heaving softly. Emily closed her eyes, ashamed suddenly of the arousal the image produced. This wasn’t right. She took a shaky breath in. In a quick motion, two strong hands gripped the blonde’s waist and hauled her a step away and the taller woman hopped off the counter. JJ, stunned by the action snapped her head up and Emily’s mouth grazed her forehead as she snaked out from between her and the counter.

“Looks better…” she sighed, apparently checking her reflection in the microwave. “Thanks.”

The blonde nodded, folding her arms across her chest.

“I appreciate it…” Emily repeated, pulling the suit-jacket down, smiling politely. The intimacy from moments ago vanished like it had never been.

“I’ll meet you out there?” JJ said. “Just uh – um… a couple more things to wrap up.”

Emily maintained her smile as she walked out, measured. She hesitated by the doorway and turned to the mystified woman who had started stacking pots off the stove, in a trance.

“JJ…” Emily said evenly. “Will’s a really good cook.”

The blonde didn’t react, staring blankly at the older agent.

“What’s the matter?”

JJ shook her head, forcing the tightest of smiles. “Nothing. I’ll be right out.”

* * *

 **A/N:** So sorry for the late update, it’s moving week and everything’s been hectic! But I should be back on schedule. Let me know what you thought?

Thank you so much for reading and for engaging – it’s the best inspiration.


	10. Dream Me Up, Buttercup

**Pairing:** Emily Prentiss/ Jennifer Jareau

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters in its universe. All rights belong to CBS. Made for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

“Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.”   
― Sigmund Freud

* * *

** Chapter 10 **

_3:52 a.m._

Emily’s thighs were compact and muscular when she sat like that, in that laissez-faire way – leaned against her desk in the bullpen, her bottom resting on the table’s edge – arms folded, head thrown back, guffawing at something Morgan said. The fitted, grey fabric of her pants wrapped around legs – legs that could sprint and leap and on some occasions, kick down solid doors – the fabric, satiny to the media liaison’s eyes. JJ smiled at a young girl, sitting at the desk behind Emily. So familiar; likely a victim’s daughter. No. Too cheery to be a victim’s daughter. Buttery curls fell everywhere, down the girl’s shoulders and even to the desk. It must take a _while_ to shampoo that.

Without knowing how she got there, JJ was standing a whisker from Emily. The tips of their boots touching. Emily, with her thighs thick and strong and pressed into the table. The liaison turned instinctually, at the sound of a trickle of water behind them.

“Did you turn the shower off?” she asked the aging, bald man sitting at Reid’s desk.

He blinked. Sorrow splattering his eyes yellowish red. The victim? Emily again, in front of her. With her thighs. Now not laughing anymore, but looking at JJ with _that_ regard. Large and sparkling. Pitying. All-knowing. JJ placed a hand on her bicep and used it as leverage to hoist herself into the woman’s lap. She hiked her skirt up, then placed both her knees on the desk, on either side of the taller agent to straddle her. If she thought she might slide off and make a fool of herself, Emily eased those fears, pressing both her hands into JJ’s ass for support.

The blonde watched dark brown eyes become duskier. Black. Arousal separated Emily’s mouth – red and pouty. Always moisturized.

The water again – trickling. Dripping.

“Can you turn that off?” JJ snarled at the man behind her; dilated eyes trained on the woman whose arms she was in.

It began slowly, the rocking, but JJ saw her own breasts swell up against the cloth of her blouse at the sensation. Steady, Emily’s hands pushed her into her crotch – the thick fly of her pants pressing into JJ’s sensitive centre. Wet breaths hit the blonde’s mouth as she gained speed, thrusting her pelvis into Emily’s. Her ears gushing, rushing with heat. With the tub filling. The tips of her fingers dug into the agent’s biceps, the muscle there sturdy – her thighs firm under JJ’s bottom. She felt it coming, the eager whimpers from her chest as the friction against her clit increased.

“Jennifer. You’re pregnant.”

JJ couldn’t respond, the moans coming out hard from her throat – her chin wedged into Emily’s neck. She had her now. In the corner of her eyes, JJ saw the golden curls spread around them – from the orphaned girl waiting – as she dry-humped her co-worker in the middle of the busy BAU office.

“Be right there Hotch…” JJ grunted out. This case was time-sensitive. “Turn OFF the water!” she roared at the ill man behind them – watching. Pressuring them.

Harder now, JJ’s tits, sharp and painful were pressing into the dark-haired woman. Into her breasts, buxom. It built, the swirling spiral of nerves and engorged pressure as it sunk lower and lower and lower into her belly.

“Jennifer… the water is wet,” the husky voice said in her ear.

“I know Emily… I know. Don’t go.” She felt Emily’s arms tighten around her. “Don’t go Emily.”

“The water is hot.” Emily repeated, more urgent now. “Cher, it’s hot.”

Her hips bucked again and again. Harder. Emily’s belt buckle adding to its slippery rhythm. When JJ opened her eyes it was still dark and her boyfriend was staring at her, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Wakey, wakey, pretty lady,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her chapped mouth. “Flight’s in two hours.”

Her legs were shaky when she made it to the bathroom. She turned on the shower. Everything became steamy. With both hands gripping the sink, she watched herself in the mirror – edges of her head blurring as vapour settled on the glass.

This was not good.

She took a slow breath in, attempting to regulate her walloping heart. Nauseous. Three fingers came up to feel her jugular. Her hand slid down tender nipples, her abdominal muscles quivering. It slipped into her underwear. There, she felt the slickest heat pooled between her legs.

Oh. This was _not_ good.

* * *

East Wing, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Northwest Washington D.C.

Quantico, VA

_Monday, 10:03 a.m._

Everything was fine.

JJ felt vice grips and knots in her back liquefy suddenly into loose mush. She buried her face into her palms, letting go of a breath she had been holding for the past six hours. The pregnancy-test lying on the wall-mounted sanitary product receptacle glowed with a single pink line.

The sound of the door to the ladies’ room swinging open interrupted JJ’s oncoming breakdown and she got up off the toilet suddenly. As she yanked up her skirt, familiar footsteps began approaching the stalls. She strained to identify them, wiping away tracks of relief from her face. She flushed with a foot, and her heel got wedged in the lever. Her palms caught the resulting fumble against the stall-door but the negative test slipped off the repository, and fell to the floor with a plasticky clatter.

The footsteps outside petered to a halt. JJ struggled to bend over in the tight stall to pick up the stick caught between two tiles; attempting to swizzle it out, she managed to fling it up and out of the space under the door. It slid across the linoleum and into the common bathroom space. JJ bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming; she offered a silent prayer of curses to the ceiling. Steeling herself for the awkward encounter about to ensue, she swung open the door – hoping it wasn’t Debby from Forensics – nosy bitch.

Instead, a bright-eyed Penelope Garcia was staring at her. JJ froze. Both women stared at each other in a Western stand-off. A ball of hay rolled past the toilets and stopped gently at the tampon dispenser. A symphonic score played, rollicking across the Great Plains of the Mississippi Prairies. Two sets of eyes lowered disbelievingly to the stick lying in between them.

“Felicitations, my princess…” Garcia said finally, adjusting a massive Turkey bracelet on her wrist. “I was hoping to wrap up my final down-payment on the Prius _before_ I inherited a God Baby… so personally, I’m relieved.”

The liaison rolled her eyes, grabbing the test off the floor and stomping to the trashcan. “Thank God it’s you.”

The technical analyst puckered her lips playfully as she eyed her clearly frazzled friend vigorously scrubbing soap into her hands. She showed support in the only way she knew how, physical touch. And JJ had to admit being rubbed on the back like a baby about to burp was exactly what she needed right now. She let her shoulders slacken, sloping her weight into the sink.

“Talk to me...”

JJ’s arms hurt from being folded across her chest so tightly, her nails pressing into her arm-pits, but she couldn’t make herself let go. She considered an array of excuses to leave. Hotch was actually waiting for a briefing of the cases that had come in over the weekend – and two fingers pressed into the bridge of her nose at the thought of choosing their next venture. It wasn’t always that she had trouble, but cases involving young women being hunted by masochistic predators were often difficult to reject.

Blue eyes turned up hesitantly, and watched her patient, kind, wonderful friend looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“I had a weird dream,” JJ cringed. “About Emily.”

If there was a flash of a smirk on the analyst’s face, it was replaced too quickly by commiseration. She let her talk, squeezing her forearm for her to go on.

“And… it was weird. It was –” the blonde regretted that she even broached the subject. The details of the dream were distorting now. “It was like – we were in the BAU and Morgan was there and Hotch… and, my sister but in like a super young form… or, or maybe not an – “

“Ok sugar, take a breath.” The woman grasped her by the arms. “It’s just me. And you’re rambling.”

JJ thought she might burst into tears at the warmth and concern in Penelope’s eyes. What was happening to her?

“Emily said I was pregnant. In the dream.”

The smile started slow and then spread with relief like margarine across the effervescent woman’s face. She let her palms slip off JJ’s frame and fold deviously across her own torso.

“Is that why you took the test?”

“Ok yes but – “

“Oh my God…” Penelope burst out into a giggle, golden curls springing with her laugh. “You are so _cute_!”

“It was so real Pen… I can’t even. I _cannot_ tell you how real.”

JJ followed her friend down to the door like a puppy trying to get her to listen. A duo of agents walked in and both the women sobered as they entered respective stalls.

“Is that it?”

The liaison bit her lip and nodded.

“Oh for Pete’s sake Jayje…” Garcia glanced to the occupied stalls and lowered her voice, stepping closer to the blonde. “I had a dream once that I shot Gideon with his own gun.”

JJ gasped audibly, a hand coming up to her mouth.

“I know, I know… it’s – it’s pretty messed up,” Garcia grimaced, waiting till the duo of interrupters left. “I actually had to see a hypnotist to be able to fall asleep again. But, whatever, it’s done. Dr. Chantelle said it was my way of coping with his sudden loss. Now I know that I have stuck points around abandonment that are triggered by unexpected changes.”

The blonde frowned, grabbing her friend’s hand affectionately.

“Oh, Pen…” she cooed. “You never said anything.”

The technical analyst adjusted her glasses, returning JJ’s hand-hold. “The point is, princess. We all have crazy dreams… they don’t mean anything except what you want them to. You know that?”

“I do. I do…” JJ sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I just think it’s been great, so amazingly wonderfully great to have Will here. But I dropped him off at the airport this morning and just felt such, _such_ relief – you know? And then thinking I might be pregnant – “

“Because Emily Prentiss told you in a dream…” Garcia deadpanned.

JJ reiterated pointedly. “Because, Emily Prentiss told me in a dream… it was just scary. I felt trapped. And then that made me question everything about Will and our relationship and all of it, am I making sense?”

Her friend nodded. “How do you feel now that you know you aren’t gonna’ have cop-babies? Just yet, at least.”

JJ wasn’t sure she knew the answer, but decided to search for it. Talking was good. Talking meant nothing was as dire as it seemed. 

“It makes sense to me…” Garcia offered when her friend seemed lost for words. “I mean, you want to be a profiler. You have ambitions and career goals. That’s a good thing, angel-face. It makes you who you are.”

The blonde allowed a small smile at that, feeling grateful for the people in her life.

“And Will is a cutie-pie,” the analyst said. “Last night was so much fun. He seems to really love you Jayje… we’re all so happy for you.”

A lump formed in JJ’s throat at those words. Penelope looked like she wanted to say something else, and JJ raised her brow to encourage her.

“I am happy for you,” she repeated, fiddling with a ring on her finger. “But, as someone who lovesyou and is alwayson your side I just wanna’ make sure you know that – like – it’s _okay_ to have doubts and to have things that are amazing and perfect and still want more. Or want… _different_ more.”

The liaison’s eyebrows knitted together, she squared her shoulders.

“I love you too Penelope… I –” JJ strained her mouth into a smile. “I don’t have doubts.”

“You don’t?”

JJ looked down to her crossed feet, and back to her friend. “Sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t be a human being if you didn’t have them, honey.”

The blonde nodded, realizing they probably needed to head back to work at some point today. She clasped her friend’s hand and brought it to her mouth to give her knuckles a loud, wet kiss. The analyst squirmed mockingly, pulling her arm back. Penelope could always lighten up her day. JJ felt the weight dissolve off her shoulders as they headed to the exit.

It wasn’t until she held the restroom door open for Garcia though that she turned to her with a suggestive glint in her bespectacled eyes.

“It was a dirty dream, wasn’t it?” Penelope kept her voice low, but purposeful. “With Emily.”

JJ thought if she stayed very still, her friend might think she was dead and walk away.

“Nope.”

“Whatever gets you through the day, sugar-plum,” she said, winking. “I forgot I came in here to pee. You know where to find me if you wanna share the disgusting details!”

* * *

Behavioural Analysis Unit,

Edgar Hoover Building, Northwest Washington D.C.

_11:34 a.m._

A fuming Strauss side-glanced at the media liaison as she stormed out of Hotch’s office. Great – this was not going to put the surly Unit Chief in any better a mood than he usually was. At least it was proving to be a shitty morning for everyone involved, JJ felt odd solidarity in that. She slipped into his office – Bitchiness galore.

“Your day going as well as mine?”

The crotchety man pinching his eyes looked up, exhaling dramatically at the sight of yet another person needing something from him. JJ found herself stupefied he was such a gentle and polite guest in her home just last night and today it was as though he didn’t even know her last name. Talk about compartmentalization.

“It’s contingent,” he began shuffling papers out of a packed folder. “Is your wife filing for divorce because you are being flogged by the Section Chief for every decision you make?”

“I’m glad we can finally joke about the Hailey situation,” she moved toward him, setting two manila envelopes on his desk. “I was starting to feel some kind of way about pretending like everything was ok.”

“ _We_ can’t,” he eyed them like they were putrid. “What is this?”

“I need your opinion.”

“JJ, I – I really – can’t this wait?” He tried to shush her with a hand motion when both his lines began ringing at once. She attempted to make her case, but was silenced by his answering the call. He barked in his quiet but scathing Hotch kind of way at his secretary. Then at his soon-to-be-ex on the other line.

The blonde took the liberty to sit. From slits for eyes puffed up with exhaustion, he stared at her, wishing she would just leave.

“It’s been a busy week and it’s only Monday,” JJ fought on, placing both palms on her folders. “I’ve shortlisted these two cases. I need insight on which one to choose.”

“What are they?” he loosened his tie, giving in.

This was her window. She briefed him on the two cases, one in New Hampshire and another in Delaware. The man across from her typed violently on his computer as she spoke, assuring her that he was listening but had to answer an email.

“JJ, I’m a little confused,” he said finally, his hand tense on the mouse. “What is the BAU’s prerogative here?”

“The prerogative is that we stop this Unsub before he actually hurts someone,” JJ frowned, prompting herself to remain patient. “I thought that was the point of the Unit. Precaution over a cure.”

“I hear you. But there aren’t more pressing cases with actual body counts asking us to come down?”

“The ones that are have bigger police departments. These are small towns with a few officers and no concept of the psychology behind stalking or – “

He raised his hand again when his phone rang and JJ held her breath, squelching an impulse to throw the folders in his face. He covered the mouthpiece and looked up at her.

“Prentiss should be back from her firearms eval – she should be able to help,” he said in a low voice just above a whisper. “I’ve got Boston on the line.”

The blonde shook her head, feeling her mouth dry up. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Firearms evals, Agent Jareau,” he said sternly, beady eyes glazing with annoyance. “Rossi’s in Roanoke for another hour at his book-signing. What is your issue with asking Prentiss?”

Before she could answer, he showed her his palm again, offering a monotone “Negative” on the phone before covering it.

“There is no issue,” JJ got up, smoothening her skirt.

“Good,” he settled into his call. “Please just lock the door on your way out.”

* * *

_11:57 a.m._

_Emily’s thighs were compact and muscular when she sat like that, in that laissez-faire way – leaned against her desk in ---_

“My call would be Delaware.”

The silky voice shook JJ out of her reverie; she dragged her eyes up from Emily’s legs as the woman leaned against JJ’s corner-desk in a disturbingly reminiscent way. The liaison nodded, deciding to reprimand herself aggressively at a later time for sexualizing her co-worker.

“So it’s settled then?” the brunette shrugged, closing the file and pushing off the table. “That was easy.”

JJ stiffened in her chair, hearing her words at a lag.

“What, wait no –” she called for the agent to turn around. “New Hampshire’s got _seven_ markers of a potential physical strike. All we have in Delaware is three contradicting reports of someone trying to offer kids rides to Church. I mean, am I missing something here?”

Emily placed the files on a side-table, slipping her hands in her pockets as she approached the blonde sitting at her desk.

“Well, for starters, there’s a body in Delaware.”

“No… there _was_ a corpse from half a decade ago who possibly fits the victimology of this person who may or may not exist.”

“It’s a little more than _possibly_ ,” Emily offered a half smile. “I mean, JJ, how many black kids do you know in Hockessin, Delaware?”

JJ sat straighter in her chair, willing the same neat brain-cataloguing that Hotch had done when Emily’s caring expression threatened to soften her reserve.

“Six women have been mailed photos of the backs of their heads within the last year Emily,” JJ said, feeling her pulse quicken. “Is that not slightly more alarming to you?”

“Look, I am not saying it isn’t alarming,” Emily said, her tone firmer. “It may even be a sign of a resentful stalker, but there have been no attempts at approaching any of these women. Which leads us to believe it might be someone harmless taunting them without any real aim.”

“Yet, Emily,” JJ sniped back. “Yet. What happens when there is an attempt, or worse an attack? And we have a small, understaffed police force sitting on their hands as this guy goes from resentful to predatory?”

Emily bit her lip, deciding to sit across from the liaison in an attempt to even the height difference and squash whatever tension she was feeling from the other woman. Blue eyes watched as she folded her sleeves up. Emily placed defined forearms on the surface of the table and leaned toward the visibly rigid woman.

“JJ, I’m not trying to challenge you here,” she said softly, looking straight into unreadable eyes. “You asked for my opinion and that’s just what I think. Delaware needs us more.”

“I know,” the liaison let go of strangled breath, deflating. “I know you aren’t. I’m sorry Emily, it’s just been… a crazy morning.”

“Oh,” the brunette said earnestly. “Anything you wanna’ talk about?”

JJ tucked stray locks behind her ear, shaking her head.

“That’s ok,” she breathed, rearranging her case photographs. “Are you biased toward Delaware because it’s kids involved?”

Emily thought about it before she spoke, answering honestly.

“Partially, yeah,” she said. “But also for the reasons I mentioned. It’s a continuum of priorities, isn’t it JJ?”

“Ok, but _where_ is our bias toward women, Emily?”

“JJ…” she said through a tired smile, but the younger woman went on.

“I’m serious I mean – these are women who did everything they were supposed to. They collected evidence, they documented dates and they went to the authorities when they were supposed to,” JJ said, stressing her points with her hands. “What do we say to them every time we reject these cases because there hasn’t been any violence _yet_? That their lives are dispensable unless their bodies have somehow been violated under the definition of a patriarchal law?”

Two dark eyebrow rose and Emily crossed a leg over another, locking her ankle at the knee.

“I’m not saying the system works well. I’m not saying that,” she said, gentler. “All I’m saying is that we operate within the same patriarchal laws that these women do. It’s a strain on the force if we send our energy to a place it isn’t designed for.”

“It is though Emily…” JJ scoffed, bordering on a whine. “It is designed to prevent harm. And when it comes to kids we are always, always following that criteria but when it comes to women – and do you know how many women come across my desk every single week? – when it comes to them, we default to the handbook. Tell me that feels right to you.”

Emily clasped her hands on the wooded surface, pursing her lips. She took in the woman sitting across from her; blonde hair a little messier than usual and eyes blazing with electricity. She hadn’t seen her like this, with such conviction and idealism. It was vexing, but also shockingly endearing in a world wrapped with conventions and hierarchies.

“OK,” Emily said, bowing her head to keep eye-contact with the liaison; she pressed her hand against her chest for emphasis. “I think that Delaware needs our attention because the most recent report of coercion shows a clear sign of escalation from this Unsub, possibly a paedophile. And I think law-enforcement has a pattern of ignoring complaints made by minority communities.”

JJ sobered, licking her lips in acknowledgment. Emily was making sense.

“But…” Emily hummed.

A small smiled pulled at her mouth and JJ couldn’t help but mirror it; it was watery, but it was there. Her neck felt warm suddenly.

“But?”

“But…” Emily pulled her hands to her lap with conviction. “If you truly believe New Hampshire is the way to go, I’ll back you up. I think that… you have fresh eyes. I think, I don’t. We don’t.”

The media liaison swallowed a thickness in her oesophagus. She cleared her throat, her fingers coming to graze her necklace before dropping to her lap. “I really, really think New Hampshire is the way to go, Emily.”

The taller woman tilted her head to the side, “Then, let’s pack our snow-boots.”

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for the incredible engagement with this story. I am having such fun writing it. Let me know what ya’ll thought of this chapter! What do you think will happen in New Hampshire?

I look forward to hearing from you!


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